


Strickler's Fuckfest Bonanza 2016

by Nerves



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward BDSM, Bad Dirty Talk, Car Sex, Choking, Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Not Serious, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Curse, Shapeshifting, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Trans Characters, Vaginal Sex, Vore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerves/pseuds/Nerves
Summary: The inevitable happened, and Strickler's dick has been cursed. He has three days to have sex with twenty different people, or else he'll die. Starting at Arcadia Oaks High School and ending in the Darklands, Strickler's done his enema, grabbed his sex gear bag, and he's up for the challenge.For the purposes of this story, all characters are aged up to over 18.





	1. The Rules of the Game as Told by a Goddamn Liar

“Good evening, Barbara.” Strickler smiles broadly at her as she opens the door, returning his smile with one of her own.

“Walt,” she greets, leaning forward to give him a peck on the lips. “Come in, please.” Stepping inside, he lifts up the bottle of wine that he holds in his hand, showing her the label.

 “I brought a Pinot Noir, the ‘heartbreak grape,’” he says, clearly proud of himself. Barbara laughs without any real effort in it, as she’s heard him tell the exact same joke at least four times now. The man certainly loves his Pinot Noir.

“Jim’s out for the evening, so we’ve got the house to ourselves. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable in the living room, I’ll grab the glasses and condoms.” Winking at him, she runs her hand along the lapel of his blazer before turning and walking towards the kitchen. Doing as he was told, Strickler makes his way into the living room, noting that the blinds are still open. It makes him feel a bit awkward as he sees the lights on in the house across the street, especially since the last several times he’s come over he’s had to work rather hard to convince Barbara to not give him a blowjob in the living room without any window coverings. Clearly the woman has some kinks that she’s trying to gently encourage him to indulge.

Sitting down on the couch, he sets the bottle on the coffee table, glass hitting against glass with an uncomfortable crunch. He wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs, his back erect and tense. He’s anxious for Barbara to return, but at the same time he wants her to stay away. It’s a less than pleasant thing that he has to do, but it is foolish to try to delay the inevitable. At the very least, he owes her an explanation.

As Barbara returns with the promised items in hand, he gives her a wan smile, and she pauses, her brow furrowed. “Walt? What’s with that face?” Strickler heaves a heavy sigh, and then pats the spot on the couch next to him. 

“Barbara, please sit,” he says, guilt etched onto his features, but not _too_ much guilt. Complying, the woman sits down beside him, looking away from him only briefly to make sure that she places the glasses on the table properly. “You know that we’re not exclusive, right?” Looking rather taken aback, she lets out a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Of course we’re not, we’ve never even _had_ that discussion,” she replies, although he can hear some note of trepidation in her words. Still, he presses on.

“Good, that will make this much easier.” Shifting in his seat, he turns to face her more fully, fingers steepled together. “Here’s the thing - I am going to be fucking a _lot_ of people over the next few days.” Looking rather startled, Barb pulls back slightly. “And I mean a _lot_ of people - well, people _and_ trolls. He was _very_ specific that I had to fuck both." 

“You’re-- what do-- _trolls_?” Her voice is incredulous, and he can see that he’s already starting to lose her. He nods solemnly. “Walt, trolls don’t-” 

“-Exist? Oh, they do, trust me. I _am_ one.” Barb furrows her brow, and then looks him up and down, her gaze skeptical. “Listen, I’m not going to bother explaining the whole ‘trolls exist’ thing because you won’t remember this in a few minutes anyway. This is for my benefit, not yours.” Barbara frowns, and then crosses her arms over her chest. Strickler can see that he’s quickly losing her. 

“Walt, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but you need to cut it out, or leave.” She’s taken a motherly tone with him, and Strickler almost smiles.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be leaving soon enough. I just want you to know what’s going on. May I please continue?” Sighing, he waits to see if she’ll interrupt him again before he speaks again. Satisfied that she’s only going to glare at him, he begins once more. “So I have this friend- well, we’re not really friends, he hates me and I’m really more of his employer of sorts- whatever, it doesn’t matter. So I have this _employee_ , and he hates me. Since he’s an ancient troll wizard assassin, his way of solving problems is to curse them. Guess who got cursed!” Pointing to himself, he lets out a snort of laughter, but it’s awkward and Barbara continues to stare at him as if he’s grown a second head. Clearing his throat, he gives her a serious look once again. “If I don’t fuck twenty people in the next three days, I’m going to die. I just want you to know that it doesn’t mean everything, that I still want to be with you.”

She stares at him silently for a long moment, before she slowly uncrosses her arms. “So… not that I believe you because that entire story is completely preposterous… but if you’ve got to fuck twenty people, why not get them all out of the way at once? I’ve got some friends who I could invite over, and I’m sure they’ve got friends. Besides, three days? That’s a stupid number. Who would give someone a three day deadline?” Strickler smiles warmly at her, surprised and delighted by her words. Clasping her hand in his, he squeezes it gently. She truly is one of the most delightful humans that he’s ever met.

“Oh Barbara. You are a wonderful, perfect goddess of a woman, and I adore you. As much as I would love to participate in a massive orgy with you, my employee was _very_ specific that I had to fuck each one individually. He intends it as torture.” He laughs a little, patting her hand. “Unfortunately for him, there’s nothing I love more than completely depraved sex games and getting cocks shoved in my mouth!” He laughs again, and then upon realizing that he just admitted to being a cock-hungry sex fiend to the woman that he is dating, he trails off and clears his throat. “Anyway, great idea, but no.” Pulling her hand back abruptly, Barbara glares at him again.

“This is ridiculous. What is this Walt? Are you trying to do some weird kind of role play? Some kind of sick joke?” She snaps at him, pulling back again. “If so, it’s not funny. What the hell is going on? This isn’t like you!” Strickler frowns, pulling his hands back into his lap. He stares at her for a long moment before he sighs, reaching into his blazer. Pulling out a pair of sunglasses and what looks suspiciously like a neuralyzer designed by Guillermo Del Toro, he dons the sunglasses and lifts up the device.

“Unfortunately, Barbara, this is _exactly_ like me.”

With a flash, Barbara’s stare becomes blank, and the memory of the last several minutes is gone. Pulling off the sunglasses, he puts both them and the device back into his blazer pocket. Reaching out to stroke her face, he gives her a weak smile. “An emergency came up at the school, and I’ve got to go. We’ll have wine-and-sex night another time.” Getting up, he leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. Stroking her cheek with his thumb one more time, he turns and leaves, the front door clicking shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, welcome to my new garbage Trollhunters fanfiction. This fic is mainly an excuse to write as much ridiculous smut with Strickler as possible, and to see if I can manage to create chemistry between him and some rather... unexpected characters. Some chapters will have dodgy content, but I will add the appropriate warnings in the notes beforehand. There is some plot here, but if you need to skip a chapter, you probably won't miss too much. Thanks for reading, and have fun!


	2. Slim Pickings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second chapter of my ridiculous trollhunters porn fic. He fucks a teenager in this one, just warning you.

As the sun rises to start the day, so does Walter Strickler. Having not had a particularly restful sleep, he is already irritated, and his mood is made worse when he goes downstairs only to find the troll who is currently at the very top of his shit list leaning against his counter. “Angor,” he grinds out, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. The troll seems to have taken break from his usual occupation of carving figures and leaving pieces of his stone skin laying around, and is instead texting on a cell phone that Strickler does not know the origin of, typing with a stylus that is cartoonishly small in his large hand. “What are you doing here?” As he hears the question, Angor turns his head, gazing at the changeling briefly.

“Today’s the day,” he says, clicking the phone off and smirking at Strickler. “It will be fun to see you debase yourself.” Strickler flushes, glaring at the troll for a moment before tearing his gaze away. Walking over to the counter, he grabs his water bottle and moves to the sink to begin filling it.

“You do know that I will never give you the Inferna Copula now, don’t you?” he says, watching the water level rise in the container. Angor scoffs, slipping the cell phone into one of the pouches on his belt, one with several magical artifacts in it.

“You weren’t going to give it to me anyway,” he retorts, stepping closer whilst remaining in the shadows. Strickler glowers at him and reaches over to open the blinds, and as they rush upwards with a tug of his hand, Angor grunts and scoots backwards away from the beam of sunlight now pouring through the window. “With an attitude like that, you won’t last an hour.” Angor chuckles to himself. “Of course, starting in…” he glances at the clock. “...oh, three minutes, you won’t have much of a choice, will you?” Strickler flushes, shutting off the sink.

“You’re a disgusting, crude creature, and Gunmar should have killed you when he had the chance.” He angrily chugs half of his water bottle in the troll’s direction before he refills it again. Angor simply smirks to himself, taking in the sight of Strickler’s tiny gym shorts and tank top, complete with high-top sneakers and white socks which reach halfway up his calves - not to mention, the pepto bismol colored fanny pack around his waist.

“You look absolutely ridiculous,” Angor says, and Strickler blushes, annoyed at the bit of arousal that he feels at the degrading comment. “How are you expecting anyone to fuck you looking like that?” The man glares at him, but then a thought occurs to him and spreads a devious smile across his lips. Setting down the water bottle, he slowly meanders towards Angor, who stares down at him with a look of trepidation.

“Oh, I think that you’ll find that I can be quite…”  He reaches out a hand, running his fingertips over the cool stone of Angor’s abdomen, feeling a shudder at the smooth texture against his human skin. “... _ persuasive, _ Angor. What do you say that we just, oh I don’t know,  _ forget _ about the curse, and you can fuck me for as long as you want, as many times as you want.” With hooded eyes, Strickler smiles up at him, a naughty kind of smile, exposing him as the cock-hungry sex fiend that he had revealed he is to Barbara the night before. “I think you’ll find that I’m a rather good lay.” The troll only grunts, and then pulls a lust charm out of seemingly nowhere and holds it in front of Strickler’s face.

“Twenty, a mix of trolls and humans, just like you are you disgusting creature.” Strickler stares at the charm for a long moment, and then glares up at Angor, his mouth a thin, angry line. “Don’t enjoy yourself too much now.” Angor chuckles as Strickler snatches the charm from him, shoving it into his fanny pack. The troll pulls the mysterious cell phone and stylus out of his belt again and begins texting once again, ignoring his supposed master.

“Fuck you,” Strickler spits out before turning and walking towards the door, suddenly halting at the doorway. He feels it all of a sudden, an ache that lurches into his stomach and settles happily in his groin.  _ Oh _ . He had expected Angor’s magic to be strong of course, but not  _ that _ strong. He turns on his heel, looking back at the troll, and suddenly Angor looks  _ good _ . The whole protruding root thing and the scary corpselike face hadn’t really done it for him, but under the spell that he had been cursed with - well, let’s just say that Angor Rot, certified dangerous troll assassin looks like a  _ very _ tall drink of cold water. “Fuck… you?” He repeats the words with the changed inflection, and he sounds like a goddamn fool, but he’s walking closer to the troll now, and the troll is looking at him completely unimpressed.

“Fuck  _ you _ ,” Angor replies, setting down his cell phone and standing up a little taller, a smirk on his stone lips. The changeling feels a little weak in the knees as he stares up at him, those beautiful yellow and black eyes suddenly looking like the stuff of his mid-afternoon masturbation sessions and his late-night wet dreams. All thoughts of Barbara and his young nubile students and the hot cashier from the grocery store fly from his mind as he looks into those scary, scary hot eyes, and without thinking, he reaches out for Angor’s chest. He’s stopped by a large claw jabbed into the middle of his chest, and he lets out small  _ oof _ . “Later. You have humans to copulate with.” Strickler nearly whines, because he wants those beautiful eyes boring into him while Angor drills into him like he’s been a naughty road and they need to dig him up to install some new piping, but he holds the sound inside.

“ _ Fine, _ ” he says, although it is clearly not fine to the now sex-minded Strickler. “Later.” He jabs finger in the direction of the troll, who has now gone back to texting. “That’s an  _ order _ .” Angor grunts in acknowledgement, and upon seeing that he is not going to get any more response from the troll, Strickler turns around, and once again makes a move for the exit. He only pauses twice more before he manages to close the door behind him, leaving the troll alone in his house. Suddenly, away from his magnetic presence, Angor seems much less alluring, and so Strickler thinks that it might be alright to continue with the task at hand. He’s lying to himself of course, but he’s always been just as good at that as he is lying to other people.

* * *

 

As he makes his way to the school, he finds himself rather distracted by... well,  _ everything _ that he drives past, the sudden need to copulate with everyone and everything a rather distressing and distracting development in his current situation. It was rather cruel of Angor to do this to him, although he perhaps understands why - Strickler is not known to be the most wonderful and kind man in the world, especially not to his subjects, so it is perhaps not unreasonable that he might find it appropriate to curse his master.

  
Nonetheless, as lust interacts with irritation in Strickler's mind on his drive to the school, he finds himself more and more aroused in more ways than one, and it makes him feel rather angry with Angor. Oh well, there would be time to take care of that later.   
  
As he pulls into the school lot, he quickly observes whose vehicles are there. He counts all of the regulars, Janeth, Lawrence, Uhl, and he finds himself dreading the inevitable where all of them are concerned - although he has admittedly fantasized about the bed of Mr. Uhl's truck more than once, since he has always liked a good strong man with a thick accent.   
  
Getting out of his car in all of his fanny-pack clad glory, he similarly takes stock of the students that he sees entering the building, all bright smiles and friendly greetings and enjoying each other's company. He can't say that he's going to enjoy  _ their _ company, but he knows that he has very little choice, considering the strange lack of people outside of the school.   
  
He garners a few stares from his various students as he walks into the building, as they're not used to seeing him dressed so casually, but since he knows that he's going to be working up a sweat, he feels it's rather appropriate to dress for the occasion, as he always does with  _ every _ occassion.   
  
Stepping into the building, he makes a beeline for the locker room, hoping that maybe if he's seen going in that direction, it will gain him fewer confused stares. And it does for a moment, but it's not to last, of course. Entering the locker room, he finds it to be completely empty, which is both an annoyance and a relief. Pausing there for a moment, he pulls out his water bottle and takes a long, big swig, gulping it down although he does not need it yet. There is something about the troll's curse that makes him feel particularly thirsty, although he knows not why.   
  
As he is drinking his water, he hears the sound of the locker room door opening once again, and as he turns to look, he sees none other than Steve Palchuk waltz in, looking far too pleased with himself.  _ Oh _ . They lock eyes, and there's a horrible kind of connection that they both experience, and it fills Strickler with a terrible dread. Oh, oh  _ no _ . Palchuk was far from his first choice, but as he looks at the tall, blonde, mean boy, he feels a stirring in his loins. As if the curse were a puppeteer pulling his strings, he feels the corners of his mouth tug into a sneaky smile, his eyes hooded as he looks at the teenager.

"Good morning, Mr. Palchuk," he greets, changing his angle so that the boy can get a better look at him - and get a better look he does. Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise, and Strickler can swear that he sees the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks. Oh, this would be far too easy, with Angor's lust charm and Strickler's  _ natural _ charm.

“Good morning... Mr. Strickler," Steve replies, setting down his bag on a nearby bleacher. "What are you... uh... doing in here?" Strickler takes another long gulp of his water, watching the way that Steve watches the older man's adam's apple bob. Pulling the bottle away from his lips, he looks back at the boy, letting out a satisfied ahh.

"I could ask the same of you," he says, although it is rather ridiculous considering how Steve is on the soccer team and Strickler is just the principal. The man gives him a once over, his eyes hooded, and Steve squirms under his gaze. "Say... is that a new shirt?" Steve glances down at the shirt, contemplating the question before he looks back up at the man, confused, but mostly from the sudden…  _ lust _ that he feels, seeing Mr. Strickler in what is arguably the most unflattering outfit the man could wear.

"Er... no, I don't think so. I always wear this shirt," he says, and Strickler lets out a small  _ tut _ .

"Well, it looks very good on you, Steve - you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

"Well you  _ usually _ call me Steve, so-"

"Are you seeing anyone, Steve?"

The boy flushes, stammering. "Me? Wha-I mean I- No...? Why?" Strickler tilts his head in consideration, taking a step closer.

"Really? A strapping young man like you, I would have thought that someone would have snatched you up by now." He lets out a laugh, and Steve likewise lets out a chuckle, although it is more nervous than anything. He could feel the effects of the lust charm, but he still found his conscious sensibilities screaming at him that this was clearly a trick, that there was no way the principal was hitting on him - but then Strickler takes a few steps closer, and places a hand on Steve's shoulder. The boy gulps.

"Are you a virgin, Steve?"

Once again, the boy stutters and stammers, this time flushing a bright red. "What? No!" The answer was yes. Strickler could sense it, and the more animalistic instincts that came with being a troll started to take over. The spell was strong, and although he does not feel the same kind of intense pull that he felt with Angor, he feels a pull all the same, and his lips curl into a hyena’s smile.

"It's fine if you are, my boy. There's no shame in it." He takes another step closer, and he's pushing Steve into the lockers now, and both of them feel a sudden rush of excitement. "Of course, I'd be happy to help you out with that problem, if you so wish." And of course he so wished it - how could he not, with the lust charm and Strickler’s handsome face and his even more endearing fanny pack?

"Well that's - uh - that's really kind of you Mr. Strickler, but I-" He's cut off by Strickler suddenly grabbing Steve's crotch, his large, clearly adult man hand cupping the boy's semi-erect penis through his trousers. " _ Oh _ ."

"Oh, aren't  _ you _ a big boy," Strickler coos, pressing closer. He begins stroking him through the fabric, causing poor Steve to shudder a bit, the door of the locker at his back rattling as he does, small sounds of excitement coming out of his mouth.

"Oh uh - yeah I uh -  _ oh _ \- I guess." He chuckles again, staring up into Strickler's eyes, noting for only the briefest of moments the strange, inhuman glow that they have to them. "I grew it myself." He laughs again, and Strickler smiles at him, squeezing a little harder.

"Do you like girls, Steve?" he asks, and Steve's eyes are already half shut, his head leaned back against the locker, gently panting.

"Girls? Oh uh, yeah I guess," he replies noncommittally.

“Boys?”

“Yeah, sure. Definitely.” His hands are pressed flat against the locker, but Strickler can see him clenching and unclenching his fists, the his eyes roaming over the older man's body.

"It's alright if you want to touch me," he says, his voice low, and Steve gulps. Slowly, he reaches out with one hand, and then two, placing them on Strickler's shoulders. The changeling feels like he's about to explode from the unnatural arousal that he feels, and he takes in a sharp breath. Slowly, Steve begins moving his hands, sliding them lower, over the soft fabric of Strickler's tank top, his fingertips briefly toying with the little bit of chest hair that peeks out over the top. "You're a good boy, aren't you?" He purrs, and Steve somehow turns even redder, and looks up at him with his pretty brown eyes.

"Am I?" he asks, his voice becoming husky with arousal. Strickler lets out a hum of approval, inching ever closer.

"You can go lower," he says, moving his hands to the belt at Steve's hips. Steve's breath hitches as he finds his eyes drawn to what his principal is doing, impressed with the speed which he undoes the belt.

"Okay," he whispers, and then does as he's told, his hands sliding down the man's chest, over his abdomen, and finally resting on his hips. Strickler smirks, and as he slides down Steve's trousers and briefs in one swift motion, he presses his own body hard against the boy's, pressing their erections together. Steve lets out a loud moan, and Strickler quickly covers his mouth with his hand, the other setting to work on freeing his own erection from his shorts, and then grasping both of their cocks.

"Quiet now. You don't want to be found like this, do you?" Steve stares up at him, his eyes dark with lust, and he pauses before he shakes his head. Strickler laughs, stroking them both with his hand. “You’re quite naughty, aren’t you?” He can feel Steve smile beneath his hand, and the boy nods. “Yes, yes you are.” He rubs his thumb around the tip of Steve’s cock, eliciting another moan from the boy, whose eyes flutter shut. Strickler leans forward, his mouth close to the boy’s ear, lips brushing over the sensitive flesh oh so lightly. Steve bucks up against him, causing the locker to clatter rather loudly. “Shh. Do you want me to fuck you, boy?”

Steve’s eyes snap open at that, his hands tightening on the principal’s hips, his heart thudding in his chest. After a moment, considering what he had for breakfast and whether he had a bowel movement that day, he finally nods his head, causing Strickler to smile even broader. “Good. Will you promise to be quiet when I do?” Steve pauses to think for another moment, and then with a cheeky grin that Strickler can feel, he shakes his head no. The older man chuckles, and then pulls his hand away from the boy’s mouth. “Turn around.”

“Yes  _ sir _ ,” Steve replies, and does exactly as he’s told. Strickler takes a step back, admiring the surprisingly cute derriere of Mr. Palchuk as he fishes around in his fanny pack for his bottle of lube. Finding it, he lubes up his fingers with a gel the consistency of troll spit -  _ and now he’s thinking about Angor and those eyes again and oh boy he can’t wait to fuck enough people to unlock that level _ \- and goes searching between Steve’s delectable cheeks for the equally delectable hole that everyone infamously has. Finding said hole, Strickler teases at it with his index finger for a few moments, listening to the boy’s moans, and finding him surprisingly loose for a virgin.  _ Probably the charm’s doing _ , he thinks as he shoves his finger in knuckle deep, and then adds a second one to the mix. Looking between Steve’s anus and his own erect cock, he compares the two, and opts to simply scissor his two fingers within him as much as he can, rather than adding a third.

Meanwhile, Steve is making a series of sounds that would be less than arousing in any other setting, and Strickler finds himself for once grateful for the overwhelming power of the curse. This twink certainly won’t be getting a porn contract.

At last pulling out a condom from his fanny pack, he rips it open with his teeth and then sets to work on putting it on, still working Steve’s hole with his fingers. Once both parts are completely prepared, Strickler moves closer, positioning himself at Steve’s entrance. The boy watches over his shoulder, his eyes darting between the principal’s cock and his concentrated face, a little bit of trepidation in his eyes.

“Hey, so uh… why are we -”

“Don’t worry about it.” With that, Strickler slides in with ease, and Steve throws his own hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, shocked at the sensation. Although Strickler is far from large, the intrusion into the boy’s body is still far more than he expected, and it takes a few thrusts for him to become used to the strange sensation.

Strickler, of course, is euphoric. Both hands planted on the neighboring lockers, he leaves a smear of lube on one, and a horrible set of scratches on the other. Grunting as he thrusts into the boy, he sounds less and less human with each movement, something which Steve is far too distracted to really pay attention to. The changeling’s mouth is agape as he fucks the boy, his glamour weakening to reveal the rows of sharp teeth that he truly contains in his mouth, and it takes all of his willpower to not sink his jaws into the boy’s neck, to taste his blood. Perhaps there would be time for that later.

“Oh fuck, fuck fuck  _ fuck fuck _ \- oh oh -  _ Mr. Strick-ler! _ ” His voice cracks at the end, and Strickler rumbles a chuckle against his hair, fucking him harder as he does so. It doesn’t take long before the man feels a tightening in his groin, and although he might have held off for someone else, he doesn’t bother for this one. Palchuk is less than interesting to him, and he had twenty people to fuck. With two more thrusts, Strickler cums, crying out into the back of Steve’s head. Shuddering, he stills in him, and Steve looks back over his shoulder curiously. “Did you just-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Strickler says again quickly, slipping out. He lets out a hiss as he does so, finding that he is still painfully hard, the arousal that he had just dispersed coming back in full force.  _ Fuck _ . He looks back at Steve, considering him for a moment before he remembers Angor’s specific instructions. Taking off the condom and tying it off, Strickler puts himself back in order, returning all of his various paraphernalia back into his fanny pack. Steve watches him curiously, suddenly looking rather miffed.

“That’s it? We’re done?”

“Yep.” Reaching back into the fanny pack, Strickler grabs his sunglasses and Guillermo Del Toro’s Neuralizer™ and flashes it into Steve’s face after donning the aforementioned eye protection. “Finish masturbating to the thought of me. That’s what you were doing after all.” Putting away the neuralizer and the sunglasses, he half turns around, showing off his gym-shorts clad ass. “After all, who can resist these shorts?” Strickler gives his ass a slap, and then walks out of the locker room, depositing the used condom and wrapper in the garbage as he walks by.

He returns moments later, remembering that he forgot to wash his hands and jogs to the bathroom to do just that, his still semi-erect cock bouncing uncomfortably in his shorts, all while Steve finishes himself off on one of the bleachers, moaning “Spank me, Mr. Strickler. Tell me  _ all _ about the Trojan war.”


	3. Jamming Ms. Janeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler and Ms. Janeth play out one of her fantasies that has some uncomfortable implications, considering her job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the worst story I have ever thought of and I'm sorry everyone. There's some weird roleplaying in this one.

Having completed his first assignment, Strickler finds himself feeling rather dirty and completely humiliated. He would love to take a shower, but that would require him returning to the locker room where his previous sexual partner may very well still be, and in addition, he would have to waste precious time in order to do so. Angor had made it very clear that he has exactly 72 hours or he will die (how he managed to slip that curse past the Inferna Copula he does not know) and Strickler has no intention of dying.

And so, stinking faintly of the pit sweat now staining the armpits of his tank top, he makes his way through the school, on to find his next target. Class is in session, which makes his options limited, but also means that he’s much more likely to find some privacy.

Feeling a bit disgusting about fucking what was basically an infant in troll years, he decides that maybe aiming for someone a bit more in his glamour's age range will make him feel a bit better. As a result, he finds himself walking towards the teacher's lounge, ignoring the whispers from the few students that he passes. Yes, he looks strange, and yes, he isn’t doing whatever work it is that principals do, but he has a job much more important to take care of at this exact moment - namely, trying to kill the cursed erection that won’t die.

As he steps into the lounge, he notices that it is empty, save for one desk. It seems that all other teachers at that moment had a class for first period - all of course, except for Ms. Janeth. Somehow even more disgusted by the thought of fucking Ms. Janeth than he had been by the thought of fucking Steve, he is even more disturbed by the fact that when they make eye contact, she all of a sudden looks... rather appealing.

"Good morning Ms. Janeth," he says, although the suaveness that had served him well with Mr. Palchuk does not come as easily as he takes in the rather frazzled and frankly terrifying look on her face. He nonetheless makes an effort to step closer to bring her into what he is now going to call the lust-zone. Another thing to never tell Angor, of course.

"Good morning, Mr. Strickler," she greets back, smiling warmly at him and turning in her desk chair to look at him more fully. "Is there something that I can do for you? You don't show your face around here much any- what are you wearing?" Her eyes are fixed on his fanny pack, and he finds himself looking down as well, still determined to not feel embarrassed by his attire.

"I have a lot of working out to do today, and I thought that it would be best to dress for the occasion," he says, and for once it is not a lie. She raises an eyebrow at him, more fully taking in the rest of his outfit, and he swears that he can see a devious kind of smile on her lips. She's in the  _ zone _ .

"You work out?" she asks, uncrossing and recrossing her legs as she adjusts the way that she's sitting in her chair.

"A bit, not too much. Mostly cardio, you know, keep the pounds off." He laughs his horrible little snorting laugh, and she does the same, and it's perhaps the most horrendous and dorky that he's ever felt in his life. As their laughter dies down, they fall into an uncomfortable silence, made even more uncomfortable when Ms. Janeth looks down at his crotch and furrows her brows.

"Are you..." She trails off, and he too looks down at his crotch, finding that his erect cock is tenting in his tiny gym shorts. Looking back up at her, he refuses to show shame.

"I am,” he confirms, setting his water bottle on a nearby desk. He glances around again, making certain that they are alone before returning his gaze to her. “Are you an adventurous woman, Ms. Janeth?"

She raises her eyebrows, a look of consideration taking over her features. Leaning back in her chair, she purses her lips and continues to stare at his crotch, absently stroking the flesh under her lip with her forefinger.

"I am a bit adventurous, yes," she replies slowly, deliberately, and there's something about the way her voice grows husky and deep that Strickler finds very arousing. The conscious part of his mind tells him that of course it's the curse, of course he does not really find this woman attractive, but now that he's taking in her tall, slender frame, all clothed in black, he finds that he rather is intrigued - and attracted - by her and her strange demeanor.

"How adventurous?" he asks, slowly stepping closer, his trainers quiet against the carpeted floor. The quiet all around them is rather eerie, something off about it, but there's a kind of buzzing in his head that just won't stop as he stares into her eyes. She seems entirely abnormal all of a sudden, even more than she had before, but he finds himself drawn in like a fly to a web. She smiles up at him, running her hand idly along the edge of her desk, gripping it just so. He notices, of course, and he smirks at her.

"Oh, I can certainly be wild when I need to be, Mr. Strickler," she purrs, her eyes hooded. "As it seems you can too." His smirk widens, and with his right hand he absently touches his erection through his shorts, watching as she watches.

"I have a problem, Ms. Janeth. Could you help me out with it?" he asks the question coyly although he does not truly know why, but Ms. Janeth seems nearly giddy at the words. Shifting in her seat, she seems to adjust herself so that she is more spread out, and the way her face goes through at least five different expressions in a matter of seconds seems to indicate that she is getting herself into character. Suddenly, Strickler feels more than a little bit of dread, but he's committed now.

"Of course, Walter dear," she says, her voice sickly sweet like honey, and it sends a chill up Strickler's spine to hear someone call him by his given name. It's also gross, the way she says it, and he has to hold back from making a face. "What's the matter? Are you falling behind on your classwork?" He furrows his brow in confusion, about to ask her to clarify, and then realization dawns on him.  _ Oh _ .  _ So  _ **_that's_ ** _ how we're going to play it. Gross _ . But he's in too deep now, and so putting on his most boyish expression, he feigns embarrassment as he picks up a nearby book and covers his groin sheepishly with it.

"It's not that, Ms. Janeth," he says, struggling to find the words for real. "I uh - I'm sorry, can I -"

"Can you what, Walter?" she asks with a smile, though her teeth are gritted.  _ Don't break character. Okay. Got it. _

"I just... I just... well, you see, I was in class today, and as you were teaching I just..." He looks at the ground, trying to find the words. "I couldn't stop staring at you, Ms. Janeth. You're just... you make me so hot and... well..." He pulls the book away from his crotch, not looking at the woman in the room, now beginning to genuinely feel ashamed and embarrassed. She lets out a gasp, surprisingly convincing, and for a moment Strickler thinks that he's actually messed something up somehow, that maybe the charm doesn't work anymore, like maybe he's going to be slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit in the near future, but then he looks at her and sees the way that her hand is on her chest, and her mouth is agape, and it's about as convincing as porn acting.  _ Okay. _

" _ Walter Strickler _ ," she says, somehow emphasizing both names while laying on thick the shock and disapproval. "That is  _ no way _ to think about your  _ teacher _ , young man." She looks up into his eyes again, and she smiles at him, a devious smile. "But of course, what kind of teacher would I be if I didn't help you with your little...  _ problem _ ?" She coos, holding out a hand towards him. "Come here my dear - let Ms. Janeth make it better." It's rushed and weird and not at all his cup of tea, but he still finds him painfully hard as he continues along with her strange little roleplay, and he reaches out to take her hand.

Pulling him gently, she brings him in front of her, stopping him within easy reaching distance. Looking up at him with bright eyes, she slowly puts her hands on his hips, her fingers slipping under the elastic band of his shorts. "You do know that this isn't dress code appropriate, don't you Mr. Strickler?" She whispers it, and it takes him a moment to realize that it's out of character, and he lets out a small  _ oh _ .

"Yes of course - like I said, not a normal day - obviously." Satisfied with his answer she nods, and then gives him that strange, predatory grin, and grips the elastic with her thumbs.

"Let me take a closer look, Walter. Let's make sure you're all good." Slowly, she slides the shorts down his hips and onto his thighs, his cock springing free into the air. She lets out a little gasp upon seeing it, and when he looks at her, she seems genuinely surprised, and her cheeks are a bit flushed. He smirks to himself, rather pleased with the reaction that he's getting despite who he's getting it from. Her hands are a bit chilled as she reaches for him, one hand wrapping around his shaft, the other cupping his balls with a surprising deftness.

"Please, Ms. Janeth," he says, his voice a little higher than usual as he bucks into her hand, grasping the desk to steady himself. In all honesty, he had never gone through human puberty, and so he hasn't the faintest idea what it feels like to be a teenager, much less one being seduced by an older woman. But despite his lack of knowledge, the illusion seems to be enough for Ms. Janeth, and she smiles sweetly up at him as she leans forward, not breaking eye contact.

 

"Don't you worry. I'll take good care of you." With that, she flicks her tongue out, catching the tip of his cock with the wet muscle, and he feels an intense jolt run down his spine into his groin. He lets out a loud moan, and then slaps his hand across his mouth, shocked at the sound mostly due to the fact that it took barely anything at all for him to make it. She smiles more broadly and then does it again, garnering a similar reaction, Strickler moving his hips in an attempt to gain some kind of friction. Acquiescing to his silent request, she shifts forward and engulfs the tip with her mouth, gently sucking on it as she strokes the rest of his shaft.

He moans into his hand as she begins to suck harder, bobbing her head back and forth along his cock. It's the last thing that he would want normally, but somehow with every moment that passes he's more and more aroused, more insatiable, and her mouth feels so so good around him, and he needs more and he needs it now.

"Stop," he says suddenly, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her head back.

"What's wr- AH!" Slipping both hands around her waist, he lifts her out of her chair with his unexpected troll strength and places her right on her desk, his hands beginning to wander up her skirts. She stares at him wide-eyed, her cheeks red, clearly shocked by his sudden movements. "Mr. Strickler, are you sure this is okay?" she asks quietly, her voice suddenly girlish, and he has to admit that it's impressive how quickly she can switch from one character to the next. Hoisting her skirts up, she shifts awkwardly along with him until they're all bundled up at her waist, and he hooks his fingers around her panties - black to match the rest, of course. He raises a finger to her lips, and she flushes with the movement, staring directly into his eyes with what must be the most innocent look that she can muster.

"Quiet now, Rebecca," he says quietly, leaning close. "We wouldn't want the principal to hear us, would we?" He smirks and she returns his look with a naughty smile of her own, shaking her head. Grabbing the other side of her underwear, he pulls them off with a little bit of help from her wriggling, and discards them on the floor. Cupping her cunt with his hand, she lets out a surprised moan. She's wet, of course. The charm is impressive, he has to admit, making certain that no matter what each person will be ready for him. It's a surprising kindness coming from Angor, but nonetheless he's thankful for it.

Reaching into his fanny pack, he grabs another condom and makes quick work of putting it on. Ms. Janeth watches in fascination as he does it, and once he finishes that task he grabs her by both hips, dragging her to the edge of the desk. "Hold on tight," he says as he positions himself at her entrance, and she grabs both of his shoulders, suddenly looking rather nervous. "Don't worry, I won't tell," he whispers, and then slides into her, drawing a rather loud and unflattering noise from the woman. Pulling her into an embrace, he rests his chin on her shoulder, thrusting into her less gently than intended. He finds himself unable to control himself, the need to mate rather overwhelming, and it takes a few moments for him to realize that he's losing control of his glamour, sharp troll teeth poking into his lower lip.  _ It's a good thing she can't see my face. _ Breathing hard, his animalistic grunts are drowned out by her moans, her fingers tangling into his hair and digging into his back, her nails sharp. He wants to retaliate with his own claws, but with how sharp they are it’s unwise to leave any sort of mark on her soft flesh.

She turns her face until her mouth is at his ear, and she asks him in her sickly sweet voice “Is this good for you?”  _ Not really _ he almost replies, but he bites his tongue, simply nodding against her as he thrusts harder, faster. “Oh - oh  _ goodness _ !” She manages to get out between moans, and burying his face in her hair near her neck, he lets out a horrible growl, thrusting harder and harder until he lets out a cry into the crook of her neck, and then stills.

Both of them breathe hard against each other for several moments, the stink of their coupling wafting through the air of the teacher’s lounge, an intoxicating smell to Strickler. As with Steve, he finds that despite having already cum, his erection will not go away, and he lets out another low growl of frustration. Pulling out, he slips the condom off and ties it off as before, and then leans down to grab Ms. Janeth’s panties and pull up his shorts. Holding out the panties for her to take, she stares at him in confusion and then slowly reaches out to take the offered underwear. “Is… that it?” She asks, setting the panties down on the desk and then adjusting her glasses. Reaching back into his fanny pack, he pulls out his sunglasses and neuralizer once more.

“Yep. Thanks.”

* * *

Exiting the teacher’s lounge, Strickler shudders a little bit, as if trying to shake off something disgusting - and he  _ is _ trying to do just that. The sticky feeling of coupling with two people that he doesn’t like in the span of an hour is disgusting to say the least, and his need for a shower is growing by the minute. He has a feeling that if he doesn't take one soon, even the lust charm that Strickler gave him won't be able to overpower the smell.

As the changeling rounds a corner, he nearly screams as he's met with the sight of Angor Rot standing very very close to him. "You've gotten two, yes?" He says, his troll voice a low rumble, and it is not the most opportune time for Strickler to be seeing him because it only causes him to feel even more aroused than he did before. "Your performance is... less than impressive," Angor says, and Strickler blushes, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Oh, I see - you're watching, are you? Is that what this is really all about? To see how I fuck?" He knows in his heart that it's not, but there's a hint of desperation in his voice, like he so very much wants it to be true. Those eyes are still scary hot, and he finds his hand absently wandering to his crotch again, adjusting himself in his shorts. Angor follows the movement with his eyes for all but a moment before he looks back up into the changeling's face, a mocking smile creeping onto his features.

"It's too much for you, isn't it? You're spiralling." He laughs, and Strickler feels angry now, and he goes to slap the troll on the chest - but the moment before his hand touches the stone, Angor grabs him by the wrist and holds him tight, and Strickler feels as if he's going to cum right then and there. He lets out a strangled groan, his knees buckling a little bit as Angor laughs, holding him up by his arm. "Look at you! You're completely gone!"

"Please," Strickler begs, although he truly wishes that he wouldn't. It's not a good look on a powerful troll warrior, especially since the one he's begging is supposed to be under his command. "I've gotten the two, please just... please just fuck me and get it over with," he says. "Humans are kind of gross." Angor laughs even harder, and Strickler wonders for half a moment if someone will overhear him.

"No shit. Come on, get back to it." Dropping his arm, Strickler nearly loses his balance and falls to the ground, catching himself against the wall before he does so. Glaring up at Angor, he considers asking yet again if they can just fuck and get it over with, but he already knows the answer. It's clearly not later yet.

"Fuck you," he says again, and then turns around, moving to walk around the corner. As he goes, Angor slaps his arse with far more force than is warranted, especially with his stone hand, and Strickler lets out a pained yelp.

"Eighteen to go.”


	4. Choking on Coach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler sucks some dick, jacks off a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses anymore honestly.

Strickler is quickly finding that walking is becoming difficult at he becomes more and more engorged with each orgasm, nearly to the point of intense pain. He is starting to wonder exactly what the parameters of this curse are, but Angor has long vanished, and is thus unable to ask him. It's annoying to say the least, but he must keep going forward, lest he run out of time and die. He still is baffled by that, but he can't be bothered to worry too much as he finds himself hurrying down the hallway between classes, having managed to arrange himself in his shorts in such a way that his cock doesn't stick out in an extremely noticeable way. This time as he moves, he knows exactly where he is going and what he is going to do, although he is just as enthusiastic about it as he had been about Steve and Ms. Janeth.

Stopping outside of the gym, he listens as Coach Lawrence shouts instructions on the other side, resting against the wall next to the door as he waits for the bell to ring. The longer he stands there, just listening, the more anticipation that he feels, and he thinks to himself that planning them out a bit better will probably help alleviate some of the intense embarrassment that he feels after each copulation - probably. Listening to Lawrence's voice, he finds that it's not the most appealing voice in the world, grating almost, and he wonders if there's a single sexy man in this school.

Yes, there is.

Fine, yes, there's Señor Uhl, but he's already got his plan for that man in place. He has to get through the rest first, get them out of the way before he can bring himself to reward himself - god knows Angor won't reward him.

Another chill runs down his spine as he thinks of Angor, those strong arms, that deep voice, those scary hot eyes, and it occurs to him for the first time that maybe there is some other form of magic at play in the curse - something that makes him feel an overwhelming lust for the troll. Is this how he plans to get the Inferna Copula? He has to admit that it is clever, but all of his efforts will be for naught, because now Strickler sees the truth.

The bell rings, and the gym doors burst open as students file out, some on their way to their next classes, other to the showers (which he still desperately needs) and Strickler continuously smiles and nods as they acknowledge him with strange looks on their faces. He awkwardly leans against the wall, his arms and legs both crossed in a gesture of intense discomfort, and they all for once seem to get the message and don't bother talking to him. He sees Steve exit at one point, and as they make eye contact the boy blushes a bright red before looking away. Strickler smirks to himself.

As the last students finally file out, he can hear Coach Lawrence milling about in the now empty gym, cleaning things up for the next period. Strickler had to move quickly (a problem he has not had as of yet,) and slipping into the gym, he closes the door behind him with a loud thud. Lawrence looks up, both eyebrows raised in surprise. "Ah, Principal Strickler," he greets, watching curiously as Strickler walks towards him with determination written on his face. "What brings you down to this part of the school?" Stopping uncomfortably close to the man, Strickler suddenly grabs the man's crotch with a great deal of force, and leans extremely close.

"Your cock." The words are dripping with an unnatural kind of lust befitting only a troll of Strickler's caliber, and his eyes glow bright in the shadow of the taller man. Lawrence flushes, shocked, and then sort of awkwardly smiles, already under the influence of the charm.

"Okay. Cool," he says, and then watches as Strickler drops to his knees, undoing the ties of the man's sweatpants, pulling them down swiftly. As they pool on the floor, he then pulls down the man's briefs with an equal swiftness, and lets out an irritated growl when he finds that the man is still flaccid. Glaring up at him, Lawrence looks down at him sheepishly and then shrugs. "You caught me a little off guard, sir," he says as an excuse, and Strickler heaves a heavy sigh.

"I guess I'll just fix that too, like I fix everything else around this place." It's a lie, of course. Strickler is only a master of breaking things. Nonetheless, he leans forward, one hand at the base of the man's cock, the other massaging his balls as he sucks the cock into his mouth, sucking and licking the unfortunately listless organ until at last some bit of life seems to come back into it. Lawrence moans above him, surprised at the skill that the man displays, especially considering his usual erectile difficulties. But, before too long, he finds himself nearly at maximum hardness, and the principal bobbing back and forth along it. Once the man is sufficiently erect, Strickler looks up at him with those strange, strange eyes, and then pops his shaft out of his mouth, running the flat of his tongue from base to tip in one smooth motion.

"Oh, pardon my language, but  _ fuck _ ," Lawrence says, holding the bottom hem of his shirt up a little bit to keep it out of the changeling's way. It is of little consequence to Strickler, as he is busy working away at the man's shaft, his lips and tongue teasing and pleasing, showcasing the skills that he's gathered over two millennia of cocksucking. Although he is a man with many things to be proud of, rather embarrassingly it's one of the things that he's the most proud of. After all, it had only taken a few expert movements on his part for the man to be at full mast. “God, that feels good. How much have you done this?”

"Shut up," Strickler mutters during a brief moment where he doesn't have the man's cock in his mouth, and Lawrence nods.

"Yes sir, of course." Strickler is uncertain about how he feels about being called sir, but he has to admit that there's something exhilarating about it coming from another man. Finding a steady rhythm of sucking and stroking with one hand, he allows the other hand to move to his own crotch, slipping into his little gym shorts. Finding his own cock still extremely, horribly, painfully hard, he wriggles out of his shorts and allows them to fall down to his knees, his arse and cock uncomfortably on display should someone walk by.

And oh, is that a thrilling thought in and of itself.

He had certainly been honest with Barbara about one thing - although he is not overly enthused with who his choices are at his current location, he does in fact love depraved sex games, and this possibility of being caught is just the sort of thing that gets him all hot and bothered. Moaning around the man's shaft, he sucks harder, drawing a noise from the man himself, and he strokes himself slowly at first, gradually increasing his tempo until it matches the same speed with which he is sucking on the man before him.

The rhythm is an easy one, one that allows him to slip out of time for a moment or two, and his eyes flutter shut, allowing himself to fantasize about the people who he'd rather be fucking, about who's cock he would rather have in his mouth.

And then, he feels another presence in the gym, almost as if someone were watching him, and his eyes flutter back open. Looking to his right, he nearly jumps as he sees Angor lurking in the shadows behind the bleachers, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and a mocking smirk on his face. Glaring at the troll, Strickler suddenly finds himself full of an overwhelming need to prove himself. Glancing back up at Lawrence's face, he finds that the man's head is tilted back, his eyes closed in bliss, oblivious to the sudden intruder that has entered their space. Strickler looks back to where he had seen Angor standing, half expecting him to be gone, but still the troll stands there, watching intently.

He stops stroking himself, focussing instead on pleasuring the man before him, but he has a feeling that there's something else that Angor is looking for in this exact moment. He continues for a few more moments, Lawrence's moans and the slick sounds of Strickler’s wet mouth being the only soundtrack to the silent war between the two trolls, and the sounds help the thought to click into Strickler's mind as to what he should do next. Letting go of the man's shaft, his mouth still firmly wrapped around the tip, he throws Angor a sideways glance as if to say  _ watch this, _ and then grabs the man by the hips. The troll simply raises a single brow, his head tilted ever so slightly. Oral sex is nearly an impossibility for trolls, and as such, he has a bit of a morbid curiosity about the process.

Lawrence looks down as Strickler releases his shaft, panting as his brows furrow in confusion, and then feeling the changeling's fingers digging into his hips, his excitement is renewed - as is Strickler's. Looking back up at his employee, the principal maintains eye contact as he opens his mouth wider and relaxes his throat, and then slowly, agonizingly moves forward, engulfing the man's cock all the way to the hilt, allowing his shaft to settle comfortably in the changeling's throat. "Oh fuck," Lawrence whimpers, his brows furrowed and his mouth agape. "Oh  _ fuck _ I had no idea you could do that." Strickler smiles around his cock as best as he can, and then shoots a smug look at Angor, who looks unimpressed from a distance, but is nonetheless fascinated.

Pulling back slightly, Strickler uses the hands on the man's hips to pull him forward, encouraging him to thrust, and he does so, although it's a bit more gentle than the changeling usually opts for. Digging his fingernails in harder - and he can feel them changing into the claws that he truly has, and so he tries not to dig in too hard - he encourages him to go faster, harder, and before long Lawrence grabs the back of his head and is fucking his mouth in earnest, the slick, wet sounds of facefucking filling the gym that will still be empty for at least another three minutes. Strickler moans around his cock, tears filling his eyes, and oh god he's so hard that he can barely stand it, and he can feel precum dripping from his cock onto his shorts. Angor still watches, and that makes it all the more exciting, showing off what exactly it is that he can do, and maybe if he's enticing enough then Angor will let him give a demonstration on the troll's own unusual anatomy.

Glancing back towards Angor with teary eyes, he finds the troll still staring, and for a moment he swears that he can see the troll's hand slip under his loincloth to fondle himself, and it's far too much for him. Although he has no stimulation on his cock, Strickler finds that his excitement has reached its peak, and as Lawrence thrusts particularly deep, letting out a deep growl of his own while the changeling chokes around him, Strickler surprises himself when he feels a hot stream of cum shoot out from his cock and spatter onto the floor, a shockingly strong orgasm wracking through his body at the combination of sensations. Pulling his head back abruptly and sharply, he makes a horrible gurgling sound as Lawrence's cock pops free from his mouth, and he falls backwards onto his arse, his still erect cock bouncing awkwardly in the air. "Oh  _ fuck _ ," he gasps out, surprised by nearly everything about what had just transpired, and as he looks back to where Angor had been standing, he finds that the troll has vanished. Filled with a sudden sense of panic, Strickler makes quick work of pulling himself together and getting back to his shaky feet, the taste of cock strong in his mouth. Standing and turning around, he begins making his way towards the door, when a voice stops him.

"Hold on, where are you going?" Lawrence asks, his hand holding up his cock expectantly.

"Oh, I've got to shower before the next one," he says nonchalantly, glancing over his shoulder. "Why don't you finish yourself off or something? I'm a busy man, being the principal and all." Lawrence stammers and sputters, completely confused, and destined to continue to be confused once the effect of the lust charm in Strickler's fanny pack wears off.

"That's really rude, you know!" He calls after him, slowly beginning to stroke himself. "No offense, sir!" As he idly strokes himself, he looks down at the floor, and notices the very visible sticky spatter of semen on the ground. "Wow, and you can't even clean up after yourself?" He calls after him still, but Strickler is long gone, the gym doors closed once more. "What a dick."

* * *

Strickler's moans echo through the empty showers as he leans his forehead against the wall, stroking himself feverishly, looking for some form of relief. It's an impossibility, he knows, but still he frantically tries to reach that high in hopes of coming down, his hand his only tool of relief. He has not seen Angor since the gym, and as the hot water of the shower washes over him, he's not sure whether to be grateful or not.

He cums at least three times while in the shower, the semen washing down the drain along with his stink and his shame, but still it's not enough, and he's nearly at the point of crying as he is unable to find the relief that he so desperately seeks. Is Angor the key? Is it someone else? Is he doing it wrong? He does not know the answer, but he desperately wants to and it's becoming increasingly urgent as the pain and pleasure becomes more and more intense.

He imagines what Angor would say if he were there - something mocking, no doubt, but that thought quickly deteriorates into a fantasy of those large hands pressing him hard into the shower wall, the troll's most likely large tentacled phallus sliding all slippery along the changeling's back before it finds its way into Strickler's arse, where he can only imagine it doing the most wonderful and terrible things. The thought has him cumming again within moments, and he finds himself sobbing as he becomes even more aroused, unable to stop the onslaught of pleasure. Curse Angor, and curse his curse, and curse himself for even raising the assassin in the first place. It was a stupid, stupid choice, and one which he has come to regret.

Hearing the next wave of students entering the locker room after what must have been the next bell, Strickler forces himself to stop masturbating, and resists the urge to grab one of them to bring into his stall. Taking a long, deep breath, he forces his heart to stop racing, and grabs his towel. He will find the next one soon enough, and hopefully when he reaches his goal he will at last have his desperately sought relief. 


	5. The One with Mr. Pepperjack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler continues to jack off in the shower, not realizing there's a student stuffed in one of the lockers. Eli Pepperjack gets the strangest counseling session he's ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated in the story summary, Eli is 18 in this. This ended up sweeter than I meant and I'm mad about it. Warning for emotional manipulation beyond the usual expected in this.

When at last the locker room clears out again, Strickler cranks out yet another one, and then gives himself a good wash, determined to get through this day without going mad. Turning off the water, he towels himself off, taking care not to spend too much time on his horribly engorged dick. Changing back into his unfortunately still dirty clothes, he at least feels a little bit more clean without the scent of Steve Palchuk and Ms. Janeth and Coach Lawrence on him. Stepping out of the stall, he grabs his trainers and makes his way towards the main area of the locker room, finding a bench to sit on to put them on.

As he ties his shoes back on, he contemplates Angor, and the curse in general. The curse seems to be getting worse with each person, and he is not sure what exactly he's done wrong to cause it to do so - although isn't that really the most powerful part of the curse? He growls in frustration, sneering down at his ugly trainers and his ugly shorts and his ugly little legs and his ugly fanny pack, seeing each of them as his personal enemy at this exact moment. And of course, with the outline of it pressed against his tiny shorts, his penis is currently the worst enemy of them all. "You are the absolute worst," he says to it, tempted to slap it, but he knows that that action will most likely end with a wad of semen in his shorts.

"Oh, sorry..." says a hesitant, apologetic voice from somewhere nearby, and Strickler lets out a shriek, jumping up off the bench in a hurry. Regaining his composure, he clears his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. Looking around, he does not see the source of the voice, causing him to furrow his brow in confusion.

"Hello?" he calls out, stepping closer to the direction the voice had come from. "Who said that?"

"It's me, Eli Pepperjack," says the voice from a locker directly to his right, and Strickler jumps again, and then takes a deep breath and turns to the locker next to him. Squinting, he looks through the grate, and sees Eli inside, who gives him a little wave as best he can, considering that he's crammed into a locker.

"My goodness, are you quite alright?" Although he is aware of the bullying of Eli Pepperjack, he has never seen it himself, and he finds himself rather shocked.  _ I'm a terrible principal, _ he thinks as he moves to open the locker.

"Oh yeah I'm fine," Eli says. "Just give it a good whack, it should open pretty easily." Doing as the boy instructs, it pops open with ease, and Eli nearly falls out of it, but Strickler catches him by the elbows before he can collapse too gracelessly to the ground. The boy looks up at him, eyes wide behind his thick glasses, and Strickler feels that twinge again.  _ Oh god.  _ Pepperjack was not part of his plan, and he didn't want to fuck the poor boy after having just freed him from the locker that he had been stuffed in, but he had a feeling that Angor’s curse would not let it be otherwise.

"Who did this, Mr. Pepperjack?" he asks, and Eli flushes a little bit, although the changeling pretends not to know why. "And why?"

"Oh you know, Steve and some of the other guys from the soccer team." Eli says with a shrug, standing up straight. "But mostly Steve. We don't bother with naming extras around here." Strickler nods gravely, and then finds himself extremely embarrassed and angry for fucking the bully earlier that day. He's even more grateful to have showered now, no longer having any of his nasty bully-germs on him.

And of course, if he is to fuck Mr. Pepperjack, it would just be adding insult to injury if he hadn’t showered in between.

"They shoved me in the locker for the usual stuff - you know, the trolls and whatever." Strickler feels as if he's nearly about to have a heart attack at the word  _ trolls, _ and he unconsciously steadies himself against a nearby locker, not really noticing how uncomfortably close to the boy he's standing - oh, but Eli notices, and he blushes a little harder, pressing himself a little closer to the locker. "They don't like it when I talk about the truth," he says with full confidence.

"The trolls?" Strickler asks, his voice strained, and his face scrunched into an uncomfortable expression. Eli looks up at him, and then sighs and shakes his head.

"The trolls. The ones under Arcadia. It's okay, you probably think I'm crazy too," he says, and the poor boy sounds so very degected that Strickler feels earnest pity for him. While Nomura and Otto many others of his kin had gone the direction of limiting their contact with humans due to finding them irritating, the truth is that Strickler had chosen to be a teacher out of a genuine affection for the students that he took under his wing. Of course, there's the power trip part of it also, considering how he's constantly undermined by trolls that don't see him as one of them, but that's of no consequence. Right now, he has the chance to make Eli Pepperjack's day, even if it's only temporary.

"You're not crazy, Eli - I would never think that," he says, and puts a hand on the boy's shoulder. He feels another inopportune jolt of arousal, and he hopes that the boy won't see the outline of his cock straining against his shorts. "Tell me about them - have you seen any?" Eli looks up at him, his eyes wide, a wary look on his face. "It's not a trick, I promise. I honestly, genuinely want to hear what you have to say."

And then, the boy's face scrunches up, and he begins sobbing in the most unflattering way that Strickler has ever seen.  _ Oops. _

"Hey - oh.” Well, that’s not great. He steps closer, wrapping his arm around the boy's shoulders, and he pulls him closer - a dangerous action, considering the hot and familiar feeling that is tingling down his spine. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's - it's n-not that," Eli chokes out between sobs, rubbing his face with his arm. "I just - I've never had anyone want to listen before." Strickler feels a genuinely painful pang in his groin, and it's really horrible timing, but he can feel that time is running low for him, and the only thing he can think of now is how to turn this situation into one where it's appropriate for him to fuck this crying boy. There's no appropriate circumstance, of course, but he's getting beyond the point of desperate.

"Here, come. Sit with me." Releasing the boy, Strickler sits down on the bench, awkwardly crossing his legs, hoping that Eli won't notice. He does. Red faced and hiccupping, the boy pauses for a moment before he does as he's instructed, choosing to sit rather closer to Strickler than the man had intended. Well, at least he is going to make it easy. Placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, he leans close, his wet hair dripping a little bit onto the sleeve of Eli's shirt. "Do you want to know the truth, Eli?" he asks, and Eli's eyes widen.

"The t-truth?" he repeats back, leaning closer, his voice a whisper. Strickler smiles at him.

"The truth. But you have to swear not to tell anyone - ever." Eli nods earnestly, and god their faces are close together and boy does this look bad, but the boy seems to have stopped crying and his tears are drying on his face. "The truth, Eli, is that I know exactly what you're talking about. There  _ are _ trolls in Arcadia - I've  _ seen _ them." Eli's eyes widen and his jaw drops, and he looks like he's about to jump up, but Strickler puts a hand on his knee to encourage him to sit still. "That's not it, Eli. I know where they live. There's a place called Trollmarket,  _ right _ underneath our feet." Eli looks like he's about to cry again, but this time with joy. "And it's not the only troll city either, there are  _ hundreds _ of them - all over the world! They're beautiful Eli, and-" Before he can continue, the boy suddenly grabs Strickler's face with both hands, and plants a firm but sloppy kiss right on his lips. Oh.

Eli pulls back, beet red, and begins stammering. "Oh - uh - I'm sorry I just-" Before he can continue, Strickler threads his fingers into the boy's hair, pulling him in for another kiss. Eli's eyes close, his hands resting easily on the older man's shoulders as their mouths meet, and Strickler finds himself a bit grossed out by how easily he finds himself content with kissing Eli Pepperjack. The boy has clearly never kissed anyone in his life, and his mouth moves against Strickler's sloppily, but he doesn't mind. He smiles into the kiss, patiently moving his lips as Eli mimicks his motions, picking up on the basics surprisingly quickly. Strickler pulls away, looking the boy in the eye as he does so.

"Do you want to hear something else, Eli?" he asks, and Eli lets out a small uh-huh as he tries to go in for another kiss. Strickler holds him back, and then pushes him away a little bit, a horrible grin on his face. "I  _ am _ a troll." With that, he drops his glamour, and somehow the sight of his troll form with the tank top and the gym shorts and the fanny pack is even more ridiculous than the human one. Eli begins to scream before he claps his own hands over his mouth, leaping up from the bench, looking Stricklander up and down. The changeling watches nervously as Eli suddenly points at him, and then uncovers his mouth.

"You! Troll!" He says the words loudly, and Stricklander smiles nervously, looking up at him rather sheepishly.

"Yep. Just said that," he says, and he's already regretting his choice, since his arousal is somehow even more painful in his true form.

"That's incredible!" Eli exclaims, suddenly back on the bench, sitting real real close. "Can I see your dick?" It's Stricklander's turn to sputter and stammer, and he scoots back slightly, and tries very hard not to reply with  _ god yes. _

"I mean... it's not really... it's probably not what you're expecting," he replies, and even as he says so he can feel his phallus slipping out of its sheath inside his shorts.

"That's okay! I just really want to see it for some reason that I can’t really explain," Eli explains, and Stricklander nearly laughs. "Can you take off all of your clothes?" Stricklander raises a brow, and then smirks at him.

"If that's what you want, Mr. Pepperjack." Eli nods enthusiastically, and scoots back on the bench. Stricklander gets up, and then stands there rather awkwardly, not sure exactly what the boy is looking for - but  _ oh, _ is he looking. Eyes narrowed in the most seductive manner he can manage, he grabs the bottom hem of his tank top and begins slowly pulling it up, swaying his hips a little bit. He is uncertain if a striptease is what Eli is looking for, but a stricktease is what Eli is going to get.

"Please hurry up!" Or not. Stopping his swaying, he pulls the shirt awkwardly over his head, having some difficulty getting it off of his horns. When at last he deposits the shirt on the bench, he then unlatches his fanny pack and sets it on the floor, and then grabs the waistband of his shorts, finding them much tighter in troll form. With some difficulty, he wiggles out of him, his cock flopping out of the top of the waistband like an octopus out of a tank as the fabric goes past. "Wow!" Eli exclaims, scooting much closer. "Is that what it looks like flaccid?" As if in response somehow, the tentacle-like appendage curls around itself, its movements expressing the urgency that Stricklander feels.

"Er... no," Stricklander replies, his mind hazy with arousal as he steps out of his shorts. "I am... uh… pretty erect right now." It's perhaps the biggest understatement he's made all day. Eli just sort of says  _ oh _ and then scoots closer, squinting at his phallus.

"Is it... moving on its own?" he asks, and Stricklander can feel himself blushing, although his stone skin does not show it.

"Uh yep," he confirms, nodding rather awkwardly, placing his hands on his hips. It’s becoming urgent, the curse working its way through his slimy appendage much more quickly than usual, and he needs to fuck Eli Pepperjack  _ right now. _

"Prehensile! That's awesome!" Eli looks properly giddy, and for once Stricklander feels flattered as someone looks at his troll form.

"Thanks," he says sheepishly, sort of awkwardly looking around the room before he looks back at Eli, who he finds still staring curiously at his cock. "So uh... are we going to do this or what?"

"Hell yes!"  _ Oh thank god. _

He moves very suddenly then, pushing Eli back against the bench, holding him down with a large hand on his chest. The boy blushes a bright red as he stares up at him, his eyes wide. With his other hand, Stricklander makes quick work of the boy's belt and the button on his trousers, his stone fingers wrapping around the boy's erect shaft. Eli moans, gripping the sides of the bench to hold himself steady as the troll gives him a few strokes, and then lowers his groin to press against the boy's. On its own, Stricklander's cock slips around Eli's, slimy and wet, and the moan that the boy makes is a confused one.

"Sorry, I know it's weird," Stricklander grinds out between his teeth, trying hard not to rut against him, knowing that he would most likely break the boy's pelvis.

"No no it's great, this is excellent for my research!" Eli says, smiling up at the troll. Stricklander laughs earnestly, his great big sharp teeth on display, and the boy grins up at him in return.

"Okay, good," he says. "I'm going to move now," he tells him, and Eli nods. Slowly, Stricklander moves his hips, causing his cock to slip and slide along the boy's at varying angles. He can feel his cock fighting him, trying to force him to move faster, to press harder, but he hold himself back, gritting his teeth with the effort. Overstimulated as he is, he groans as his cock slips over the boy's in a particular way, and he can feel precum oozing from the appendage. Eli watches him, concern on his features.

"Are you alright Mr. Strickler?" He asks, and it takes Stricklander a moment to recognize his name. Grunting, he nods down at him, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I'm just... trying not to... hurt you..." he grinds out, moving his hips in a little bit sharper of a thrust than he means to.

"Oh. Okay. Well here, let me help you," Eli says, ever the quick learner, and he sits up. Stricklander watches him curiously as he rolls up his sleeves, rubs his hands together for a moment to warm them, and then with full confidence grabs the base of Stricklander's slimy cock. The troll cries out at the sensation, and then bites at his stone lip, using his long arm to hold himself up using a locker. Slowly, Eli begins slicking his hand back and forth over his cock, and the appendage responds by unlatching itself from Eli's shaft and wrapping itself around his hand. "Does that feel good?" the boy asks.

" _ Fuck yes, _ " the troll moans, rocking his hips a little bit more now that he does not fear crushing the boy's pelvis. Eli listens intently to the sounds that Stricklander makes in response to his movements, and quickly learns the places to stroke, to squeeze, finding the rough tip to be a particular favorite. Within minutes, he has the troll on the edge, and with a sudden panic and a particularly harsh thrust, Stricklander snaps himself back into focus.

"Watch your face!" Eli looks at him in confusion, and then realization, and covers his face with his unoccupied arm just in time for jets of sticky, yellowish cum to spurt from a line of small holes along the sluglike phallus. Breathing hard, Stricklander sits down on the bench, straddling it, his head leaned back. Still his cock moves of its own accord, wet with its own juices and seemingly in need of more. Eli scoots back, wiping the last bit of cum from his face (and giving it an experimental lick which he immediately regrets as it tastes like unsweetened jello) and watches the troll curiously while he buttons back up his jeans.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and Stricklander nods absently, heaving a deep sigh.

"Thank you, Eli," he says, and it's much more earnest than perhaps he's used to. "And I'm sorry." Eli furrows his brow, sitting up more properly, also straddling the bench.

"Why?" he asks, and Stricklander straightens up again, looking down at the boy with hazy eyes.

"Sorry that you won't be able to know the truth." With that, he pulls out the neuralizer and the sunglasses from his fanny pack, and does what he’s done so many times - although the glasses don't fit his face very well, and he has to close his eyes in order to not wipe his own memory.

He feels gross, as per usual, but maybe this time it’s for the sake of poor Mr. Pepperjack.


	6. Social Networking 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strickler makes a date with a mean German man, and then gets a lesson in social graces in his office from Mary Wang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussions of Lolita, and for the usual nastiness of Strickler. Once more, Mary is 18 in this story.

Back in his human form, Strickler still feels a fair amount of guilt about poor Mr. Pepperjack as he makes his way back to his office, finding that his body is beginning to feel quite tired. It had been rather regrettable that Eli had been caught up in Angor's horrible curse, innocent boy that he is, but it's too late for all of that now. The curse is strengthening by the minute, and as he walks down the hall, the bell rings, filling the hall with students.

_ Oh no. _

He freezes right there in the middle of the hallway, staring straight ahead,  _ forcing _ himself to. He can feel them all moving around him, near him - a few of them greet him, and then awkwardly move on as he stands there silently like a statue, his heart thudding so loudly that he can hear it in his head. The smell of adolescence is sharp and acrid in his nose, and the scent is so very very intoxicating in his current state. He can't just grab a student in the hallway - that one is not so easy to cover up.

Then, he feels someone brush up against him, and before he can stop himself he looks, and finds himself staring into the bright, beautiful eyes of Mary Wang. She smiles up at him, batting her eyes prettily, and he finds himself smiling back. "Good afternoon, Mr. Strickler," she says, glancing briefly downward before she looks back up into his eyes. "Nice fanny pack. Vintage, I like it." Strickler chuckles nervously, his fingers itching to grab her by the hair and do terrible, terrible things to her.

"Thank you," he says, fists clenching and unclenching. "I found it in my attic." Not smooth, but he's finding that being suave is no longer his strong suit the longer the day wears on. Mary giggles, and then continues walking away from him, and he can swear that her hips are swaying just a little bit more than usual. He feels the urge to follow her, primal and hot in his gut, and he wonders if the charm is already working its magic on her - but the rational part of his mind tells him to calm down for a moment, think, wash your hands.

And so he does, finding his way into the men's room. As he walks up to the sink, he finds himself relieved that he's alone. Washing his hands, he then takes the opportunity to wash his face, the cold water feeling nice against his heated skin. The rush in his head is loud, and he can hardly think about anything other than who's next, how is he going to get them and  _ god _ how is he going to get relief? Breathing hard, he rocks a little bit, holding himself up against the sink. When he looks up into the mirror, he nearly jumps as he sees a figure behind him, walking past him to the urinal.

He freezes as the man does his business, the sound of urine splashing against porcelain somehow the only sound capable of cutting through the haze in his mind. He tries hard not to watch, but there is muscle definition underneath the man's shirt, his shoulders moving oh so exquisitely as he zips himself up and then turns around. As he walks up to the sink next to Strickler, he looks to his left, making eye contact with the changeling, such a pretty pretty blue.

"Are you alright, Mr. Strickler?" Uhl asks, pressing his hand against the soap dispenser and rubbing his hands together, the sound of the soap in his hands slick and wet and reminiscent of Strickler's entire day. God, even that motion is distracting, and Strickler flushes. "You look rather ill." Strickler forces himself to look away, simply watching the man in the mirror instead of directly in his eyes. He can see that Uhl is still watching him closely, his face as stoic as ever.

"Yes, quite alright," he says, although his voice is far from convincing. Uhl switches on the sink, rinsing his hands, and then continues to look at the changeling, seemingly unperturbed by the strange, animalistic way that he's holding himself, hovering oddly over the sink. "I just... had an unfortunate interaction with a student." The truth slips out easily and entirely on accident, but it's too late, and Strickler watches Uhl's reaction closely - and of course, it's no reaction at all.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he says, grabbing a paper towel and drying off his hands before depositing the used towel in the garbage bin. Then, he steps closer, and places a large hand on Strickler's shoulder, and he tenses up, gripping the sink tighter.  _ Fuck fuck fuck. _ "If you ever need to talk to someone, you know where to find me." He gives his shoulder a squeeze, and then lets go, walking towards the door. It takes Strickler a moment to process what happened, but when he does he turns very quickly, looking at Uhl's retreating form.

"Actually," he begins, catching the man's attention.  _ It would really help if you could fuck me right here right now. _ He pushes the thought aside. "Will you take me for a ride in your truck later?" The innuendo is hard to miss, and miss it Uhl does not. He flushes for a moment, looking rather surprised.

"My truck?" he repeats back, incredulous.

"Your truck. The white one. I'd like to go for a ride,” Strickler confirms. “I’ve wanted to ever since you got it. It’s even nicer than the last one.”

Uhl considers him for a long moment, and then the smallest of smiles creeps onto his features. "Okay. I'll take you after school." Strickler swears that he can feel his heart flutter, but he knows that's just the horrible effect of the curse that has also caused him to have the world's worst erection. Fortunately, if Uhl notices, he's polite enough to not say a word about it.

"Okay. Great. I'll see you then." He replies, and watches as Uhl exits the bathroom then, leaving Strickler by himself once more. Already the changeling is inwardly kicking himself, since the counter which holds the sinks is the perfect height to sit on while getting rammed in the ass by a tall handsome German man. But, it’s too late now and he needs to find someone to copulate with - and quickly, if the ache in his groin is any indication.

When he fucks Angor, he’s going to give him a good punch in the face too.

Pulling himself together, he forces himself to leave the restroom, thankful when he sees that the hallways have cleared out once more. It leave him with a bit of a dilemma, of course, but he needs to find a way to get some time to think. Clearly fucking every random person he comes across is working, but it is not ideal, and so he needs to plan it out better.

Unfortunately, fate seems to have other plans for him.

When he opens the door to his office, he raises his eyebrows in surprise when he sees pretty and popular Mary Wang sitting on his desk, fiddling with one of his pens. He clearly has caught her off guard, because she quickly drops the pen back into the holder and then crosses her hands over her knee, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"...Mary," he greets, slowly closing the door behind him. At least it seems that she's going to make it easy for him. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Mary giggles, hopping down off of the desk.

"You aren't going to tell on me, are you Mr. Strickler?" she asks, tilting her head in a way intended to look innocent. He of course knows that she is anything but, but considering his day (and his whole life, really) he's not exactly one to judge.

"It depends," he says, making a very deliberate show of flipping the lock on the door. Mary bites her lip as she watches, her cheeks beginning to turn a pretty pink. "Are you going to make it worth my while?" She grins at him, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Oh, I certainly plan on making it worth your while, sir," she says, slowly approaching him. He watches her closely as she does, trying hard to keep himself stationary and not just jump her. While he clearly is not an expert on good looks today, he recognizes that one is not, in fact, a good look. "You know, Mr. Strickler, I've just been listening to a lot of Lana Del Rey lately," she says, gesturing with her right hand. "You know, like-” a small huff of laughter  “-a  _ lot _ ." She laughs again, and Stickler just smiles back patronizingly.

"Great. She's a wonderful singer," he says, deciding that he's not playing this game today - not again, at least. The first time with Ms. Janeth was weird enough, he doesn't need to play it with an actual student.

"I’m also reading Lolita," she says, and Strickler abruptly holds his hand up, halting her approach.

"Stop. You’re reading it wrong. Don't ever draw a comparison between me and Humbert Humbert again, the man was a pedophile and while beautifully written that book is not romantic." Mary blushes, sort of stammering.

"O-oh. Okay."

"Don't get me wrong, I am still absolutely going to fuck you on my desk, but I am not a sexual predator," says the man who could arguably be called a sexual predator. Mary nods enthusiastically, suddenly much less confident than she had been when he first entered the room.

"Of course. I'm sorry Mr. Strickler," she says, looking down at her feet sheepishly, her cheeks a pretty red. He takes another step closer, and there's only about a foot between them now. Raising up his hand, he puts his fingers under her chin and tilts it up, encouraging her to look him in the eye.

"You should absolutely be sorry," he says, and then leans down close to her. "That was a very wicked thing for you to say." Her bottom lip trembles as she stares up at him, and he can nearly feel her shake. "Do you know what happens to wicked girls in this office, Mary?" She shakes her head no. Rather abruptly, he grabs her by the arse, squeezing hard. She lets out a little surprised yelp, jumping at the sensation. He leans even closer until his lips are hovering over hers. "They get punished." With that, he presses his mouth against hers, not really making his case for not being a sexual predator.

She moans into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close, and she's a much better kisser than Eli, who he is very much regretting remembering in that moment. She even has the courage to slip her tongue into his mouth, her confidence seemingly returning as it's become clear what his intentions are. Short as she is in comparison to him, she presses herself against him as best as she can, grinding her hips against his, feeling his erection against her pubis through their layers of cloth.

"Are you angry with me, Mr. Strickler?" she asks in between kisses, her voice girlish, and Strickler lets out a horrible and rather off-putting growl into her mouth.

"Very," he says before sucking her tongue back into his mouth and then releasing it, gripping her hair in his fist. "You've been very rude."

"Oh yeah, tell me how rude I've been," she says against his lips, practically grinning.

"No. I'd rather we just stop talking so I can fuck you."

"Oh, okay. That's kind of rude of  _ you, _ but whatever."

"I'm a rude man."

She pulls away, grinning up at him. "That makes us a good pair then, doesn't it? Maybe one of the better ones."

"Don't get comfortable with it," he says, unbuttoning the front of her jeans. "Take off your pants." As she does so, he slips his tank top off over his head, exposing his hairy chest. As she wriggles out of her tight jeans, she looks back up at him, blushing at the sight of his bare chest. "Are you starting to think that Lana lied to you about how great old men are?" He asks, and she simply shakes her head with a smile.

"Nah, I was just thinking that your happy trail is cute. You could take some good Instagram pictures with a chest like that. Do you work out? You should  _ definitely _ make a Snap Story."  _ What? _ Completely perplexed by her question, he opts to ignore it and instead grabs the bottom of her shirt, pulling it up over her head without warning. As that garment too is discarded, she's left in her underthings, and he notices for perhaps the first time that she is extremely,  _ obscenely _ pretty.

Then again, it's probably the curse talking again. It's certainly his dick’s thought, not his brain's.

He says nothing as he grabs her by the back of the neck, pulling her in for another kiss while he makes extremely quick work of her bra latch, another great skill that he developed over the years and is always proud to show off. She doesn't seem sufficiently impressed, which he's a little bit irritated by, but perhaps the reason is because he's got his other hand down her panties, his fingers moving through the folds of her vulva with the kind of skill that has her moaning into his mouth within moments.

Rather abruptly, he grabs her by the tops of her thighs and lifts her up (an action that causes her to let out a little surprised shriek) to carry her over to the desk, where he sits her down a little bit less than delicately. He makes quick works of slipping her bra off, and then helping her wriggle out of her panties. Still kissing her, he guides her hand to his erection, which she earnestly begins stroking through his shorts. Her hand feels so good against his overworked shaft, and he moans rather loudly and embarrassingly against her lips, causing her to emit a giggle. Having properly set her down once more, he returns his fingers to her cunt, sliding one finger in as she slips her hand down his shorts, stroking him more directly.

"You're pretty hot for an old guy," she says against his mouth, and he thrusts his finger into her a little harder and bites her lip to get her to shut up. All she does in response is moan and say  _ ow, _ and so he considers it a success.

Pushing some of the things on his desk off to the side, he pushes on her chest in order for her to lie back against it. Suddenly exposed and at his mercy, she looks much more nervous and embarrassed, which is fine by him. She's a pretty thing with soft curve of her stomach and her perky breasts. He runs his hands up her body until he reaches said breasts, squeezing them forcefully without breaching the point of pain. She whimpers as he massages her breasts, before moving his fingers to stimulate her nipples, his brow furrowed in concentration.

This is not a good look either, but that's what the lock is for.

"Here, scoot closer towards the edge, near me." She does as she's told, wiggling until her exposed core bumps against the front of his shorts, causing him to take in a sharp breath.

"Like this?" she asks with a raised brow and a crooked grin.

"Yes," he says, leaning down, his mouth hovering over her right nipple. "Like that." Pressing his mouth on the hard bud, he licks and sucks at it, pulling all sorts of pleasurable sounds from Mary Wang's mouth, all while working the other one with his fingers. He watches her closely as he works, her pretty little mouth agape and her chest heaving under his ministrations, and she watches him too, her eyes hooded and cheeks flushed. Pulling his mouth free of her chest with a pop, he leans back again, sliding down his shorts for what feels like the thirtieth time today. "It's time. Don't say anything weird." She nods, her gaze hazy as if under some spell - and she is under many, of course.

Before unlatching his fanny pack and dropping it to the floor, he pulls out a condom, and as before quickly puts it on. He doesn't wait at all before he thrusts into her, and she squeaks in surprise, biting her bottom lip hard. One hand loosely resting on her collarbone, he begins thrusting in earnest, finding himself unable to tear his gaze away from her, and she stares back, her brow furrowed in pleasure. She mouths the word fuck but it's inaudible over his own panting, and as he sees her lips form the word he grips her hip hard, thrusting harder.

The wet slapping that fills his office is less than ideal, but with the primal need that rushes through his body, it's the most beautiful sound in the world. She moans underneath him with each stroke, her breath strained as he presses down on her chest, but she doesn't seem to mind, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk as she arches her back as best she can. The tension coils in his groin the same as it has many many times already, and closing his eyes, he leans his head back as he takes in the sensations, aware that his glamour is weakening. Directing the rest of his effort towards keeping his glamour up, he finds that it does not take much longer for him to cum.

With a few last strokes, he lets out a cry, placing both hands on the desk as he leans over her panting. It's not the most satisfying orgasm in the world, not even that day (the most satisfying one had been the second one in the shower while he jerked himself off), but for the smallest, briefest moment of joy, he thinks he feels himself going flaccid. It's not true of course, and he's just as hard as he was before, but as much as he wants to cry he's going to hold it together in front of this teenage girl.

"Oh, Mr. Strickler," Mary says, sighing wistfully. "I was a daisy-fresh girl, and now look what you've done to me." He opens his eyes slowly, glaring down at the girl with a hatred he usually only reserved for the like of Bular. Mary gives him a wan smile, immediately realizing her mistake. "Sorry, I had to."

"No you didn't," he says as he pulls out, once again going through the routine of taking off the condom and tying it off. Circling around his desk in naught but his socks and his trainers, he leans down and pulls out the garbage can, depositing the used condom where it belongs. Mary sits up, getting off the desk and pulling back on her panties. He watches her as she happily starts to get dressed, and for a moment he feels bad that he is witnessing firsthand how teen girls never get to get off. It almost makes him feel bad enough to do something, but he still has a deadline. Circling back around, he puts back on his shorts and his fanny pack, and then pulls his tank top back on. By this point Mary has pulled herself all back together, and is grinning at him widely. He pauses, furrowing his brow in confusion. "What? Is something the matter?" With that, she whips out her phone from seemingly nowhere, and tilts her head coyly.

"Can I take a selfie with you?" she asks. He stares at her, at first not fully comprehending the noises that she just made, but then he realizes what she said. He continues staring at her for a long moment while she looks up at him expectantly, before he finally heaves a sigh.

"Fine," he says. "Where do you want me?"

"Oh, all over, Mr. Strickler," she says in her most seductive tone, and he opts to ignore her. Standing in front of him, she beckons him closer. He leans his face close to hers, and gives his classic, charming smile while she throws up a peace sign and sticks her tongue out.

"Say Humbert Humbert!"

"I regret fucking you immensely."

"Awwww it turned out so cute! Hang on, those sunglasses are totally crispy! Put them on, let’s take another! Wait, what the hell is that thing?"

“Don’t worry about it.”

He does his usual neuralizer deal, as he has (almost) consistently done, but he decides to let her keep the photo, and actually has her send him a copy. It turned out to be very cute, and his sentimental streak causes him to want some kind of reminder of the day that Angor cursed his dick, as horrible as it is.

Unlocking the door, he has a thought and pauses, turning to Mary who is still blinking the bright light out of her eyes. “Listen, that was a  _ good _ conversation we had, Mary,” he says, turning more fully back towards her. She turns to him, looking a little confused but smiling nonetheless. “You clearly read the SparkNotes page on Lolita very thoroughly - tell me, do you have any…  _ other _ friends who like Lolita?”

She gives him the biggest, most mischievous grin, and for a moment, he finds that he actually, genuinely likes Mary Wang.


	7. Great Scott!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter with Darci reveals more information about the curse that Angor had not been forthcoming about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual, Darci is 18 in this. Thanks for still reading this story, it's garbage. I hope you're having as much fun as I am.

The school day is coming to an end rather rapidly, Strickler has noticed, and it is with some sense of panic that he realizes that he's only met a quarter of his goal set by Angor. With only three days, such a rate is a failing one, and he suddenly feels the race against time, along with the sensation of his painfully erect penis. As he contemplates in what way Angor is going to have him die, he thinks that the only possible option is that his dick will explode right off of his body.

He shudders at the thought, and then shakes it from his head.  _ There is no time to feel sorry for yourself, _ he reminds himself as he continues down the hall, rounding a corner to the next one. Within minutes the final bell will be ringing, but he is fortunately just about at his destination. Just before the bell rings, he stops outside of Senor Uhl's Spanish class, leaning against the wall in order to try to make himself look more casual, and thus less peculiar while standing there - although as many have been quick to mention, his outfit choice for the day certainly does not help.

As the bell rings and the hallway is flooded with students, he watches each and every one of them closely, already knowing which one to take. When he doesn't see her face among those that exit the room, he furrows his brow, a strong feeling of anger bubbling hotly in his gut. How dare Mary lie to him, especially after they had taken such a cute selfie together? Letting out a low growl quiet enough for no student to hear him, he waits for the wave to move past before he moves into the doorway of the classroom, deciding that it's Uhl time.

First, he sees Uhl, who looks up at him with a strangely soft smile, and stands up straight. "Hello again, Mr. Strickler," he greets, and Strickler smiles broadly at him, putting his hand on his hip. He opens his mouth to speak, finding the anger beginning to leave him - and then, he sees her there, right in the back, putting the last of her things into her backpack. Instead of speaking, he simply looks at her with his mouth agape, suddenly very distracted by her sweet face and the fact that it's the end of the school day and it's just him, Uhl, and Darci.

A horrible, horrible thought occurs to him, and he feels a spike of arousal as he lets it cross his mind, the thought of being sandwiched between the two of them and how many times that could make him cum. He flushes red, and then looks at Uhl, a silent question in his eyes. Uhl only raises an eyebrow in response, not following the train of thought that Strickler is desperately trying to communicate through eye contact alone. 

"Ms. Scott just had a couple of questions, she's on her way out," Uhl explains with some hesitancy in his tone, and Strickler watches as Darci looks up at the sound of her name, her eyes meeting his. Oh, she has pretty pretty eyes. Strickler swallows hard, and she looks him up and down, raising one eyebrow.

"Did you need something, Mr. Strickler?" she asks, and he finds himself taken aback by her directness - and also at a loss for what his excuse is. Turning back to Uhl, he finds that his throat is horribly dry, and with a pang of irritation he remembers that he left his water bottle in the teacher's lounge.

"Senor Uhl, I had a few questions for Darci that I need to get resolved before the end of the day," he says smoothly nonetheless, some of his natural confidence and ability to lie cutting through the haze of his arousal. "Do you mind if we use your classroom?" he asks, and Uhl raises both eyebrows.

"No, please - you're the principal, do as you wish," he replies, and then lowers his voice a little, leaning close in a way that sends a delighted shiver down Strickler's spine. "Am I still taking you for a ride after?" he asks, and Strickler smiles broadly at him.

"I do hope so - I've been looking forward to it for the last couple of periods," he says, and Uhl nods and smiles at him. Oh, he likes his face.

"Hey, uh, excuse me - what questions?" Darci pipes up from the back of the room, and Strickler suddenly remembers his target once more. He lets out a little laugh, smacking himself lightly on the head.

"My apologies, Darci. I haven't forgotten about you, I promise," he slowly moves to the back of the room, his hands tapping the occasional desk, and she watches him closely, her eyes wide and wise beyond her years. Taking a seat sideways in the desk in front of her, he rests his arms on the back of the chair and smiles at her. "It won't take too long, I promise. Just some routine business," he says, and she watches him warily.  _ Fuck. Is the charm wearing off? _

Uhl finishes gathering up his things and begins walking to the door, and if it were not for his keen troll senses Strickler would not have noticed it through the haze. Turning rather abruptly, he calls out to him. "Oh, Señor Uhl, could you do me a favor?" Uhl pauses in the doorway, looking at him expectantly. "I believe I left my water bottle on your desk in the teacher's lounge. Will you be a darling and grab it for me?" Uhl seems to hesitate at the word  _ darling, _ but he nods, and continues out of the room. Strickler watches after him for a few moments before he turns back to Darci, who he finds has rather unexpectedly taken off her shirt, leaving her in naught but a rather cute aquamarine colored bralette. Strickler flushes bright red, stammering slightly as he draws his gaze away from her beautiful little breasts and up to her beautiful little face.

A little smirk plays at the corner of her mouth, and she crosses her arms on the desk, resting her cheek against them as she looks up at him with those beautiful big brown eyes. "What kind of routine business were you thinking of, Mr. Strickler?" she asks, extending an arm outward and running the tip of her index finger along the heated skin of his arm. "That was a really lame excuse, by the way," she says, letting out a little laugh.

"So you know why I'm here then, don't you?" Her eyes flutter prettily as he speaks, and he likes how glittery and white her teeth are when she smiles at him.

"I knew it the moment you walked in the room," she says, nodding to his crotch. "You're hard as a rock." He looks down at himself, obviously already knowing that it's true, but he notices that his cursed erection has moved to an unfortunate place where his shorts look like a lopsided tent. He looks back up at her, all hooded eyes and a devious smile.

"Are you going to help me out with that?" he purrs, smoothing his hand over hers, and then up along her arm. She smiles at him again, shutting her eyes peacefully for a moment before she lets out a low hum and looks at him again.

"No," she says plainly, and Strickler looks taken aback, straightening up in his seat.

"Wait... what?" _ Did I misread the situation? _ As he watches her in confusion, she pulls away and then stands, her hands moving to the button of her jeans.

"I'm tired of boys only trying to get themselves off and doing nothing for me," she says bluntly, sliding the jeans down her legs. She looks up again, making direct eye contact with him, and he nearly lets out another purr at the way she looks at him. "You're a grown man -  _ surely _ you know how to treat a girl right." As she steps out of her jeans and sneakers, leaving her in her socks and underwear, she looks down at him, fully confident in a way that even Mary Wang hadn't been. He smiles up at her wickedly, admiring her choice in lingerie.

"Of course I do," he lies, standing up. "Put your back against the wall." He can see her cheeks darkening to a deep red as she does as she's told, the wall cool against her bare back. He approaches her slowly, drinking in the sight of her bathed in the late afternoon light.

_ Wait. _

He looks to the windows, suddenly remembering that they're there, and sees students walking past in the distance. His heart leaps in his chest for a moment, and he quickly crosses to the windows, making quick work of pulling down and closing the blinds. The room is much darker when he's done, and when he looks, Darci still stands against the wall, watching him closely. He walks back to her, his approach quicker this time, and stops before her. Tall man that he is, he dwarfs most people that he stands near, although it is not quite as pronounced with Darci. Raising up a hand, he caresses her cheek, a motion which she leans into, her lips parting slightly. He places the other on her chest, sliding it down slowly until he cups her breast, squeezing gently. She gasps a little bit, but does not flinch away from looking at him.

It's the kind of look that makes him want to devour - hey,  _ stop that _ with the people eating.

As he massages her breast she does not break eye contact with him, some kind of strange defiance in the choice. They continue to stare at each other as he slips a hand into her bralette, finding her nipple and tugging at it with his fingers, and that brings more gasps from her mouth that turn quickly into moans, and as her eyes flutter shut she bites at her lower lip.

"Open your mouth," he says, and her eyes open again staring up at him. Slowly, she does as he tells her, and with her mouth available to him, he slips his thumb inside, pressing against her tongue. She moans at the motion, her eyes closing again, and she's writhing against the wall a little bit, and he smiles wickedly at her. Although he is not a man that gravitates towards women, there is some disgusting part of him that enjoys seeing them squirm.

Rather suddenly, she closes her mouth around his thumb, gently sucking at it, and it's his turn to let out a groan, imagining what that pretty mouth would feel like around his shaft. A shame for him that he will not get to know what that feels like. "You're a good one, aren't you?" he whispers, and her eyes open once more, hooded and dark. She doesn't respond, but rather raises her hand up to his, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and pulling in his index and middle finger instead. He moans a little louder this time, and he unconsciously bucks his hips towards her, but does not make contact, instead continuing caressing her breast.

As she licks and sucks at his fingers, the haze grows thicker, and a strange thing happens where as he looks at her, he can see the woman that she will become. She's beautiful now, but he knows that in ten years time she'll be gorgeous, a woman to lay down your life for.

Not his life though, of course. That may be ending in a couple of days once his dick explodes.

Pulling his fingers out of her mouth, she places both hands on his shoulders, pressing down. "Get to work, old man," she says with a grin, and he frowns a little bit at her, but does as she demands and lowers himself to his knees. They crack rather awkwardly as he does so, and he winces, causing her to giggle.

"Shut up," he growls, reaching up to the waistband of her panties and pulling them down, his eyes immediately drawn to the beautiful apex of her thighs - neatly trimmed, but not shaved, almost as if she had anticipated this. He looks up at her curiously, only to see her looking back down at his face, her expression expectant.

"It's not gonna eat itself, Mr. Strickler," she says, and he rolls his eyes, placing his hands between her thighs.

"Of course it's not." With that, he spreads her legs a little bit, finding that her vulva is already dripping wet. Good. The charm is still working. Scooting forward on his knees, he presses his face into her groin, his mouth finding her vulva with ease, and he gives her a long, fully confident lick. She lets out a loud moan, one of her hands gripping the back of his head, pressing him harder into her groin. Looking up at her from where he kneels, he watches her closely as he explores her with his tongue, sucking and licking and prodding at her most sensitive parts. She moans and grinds against his mouth as he does so, fingers tangled in his soft hair.

The scent of her is sweet, delicious, and oh so incredibly human, and he breathes deeply against her mound as he works her clit with his tongue. Slowly, he runs his hands up her thighs, and then without much warning slides his index finger into her cunt. Working the digit in and out slowly, he tears more moans from her throat, beautiful, sweet sounds that tug at some animalistic part of him that Walter Strickler the Human denies he has - oh, but Stricklander has no problem playing to his trollish nature.   
  
She opens her eyes, looking down at him with her gaze dark, and she looks hazy and unable to fully process what is happening. The charm is still at full strength, it seems, and he smiles against her vulva. He works in a second finger, pulling a louder, surprised moan from her mouth, and she presses against his head harder, a sound that nearly sounds like a sob falling from her pretty pretty lips. He shudders in delight at the sound, and then rather subtly slips his hand into his shorts, rubbing at his erection. He is certain that she won't like him pleasuring himself, if her previous words are any indication, but he is a man who likes taking risks.   
  
As he rubs at his painfully erect cock, his pace matching the fingers that he has deeply embedded inside of her, his eyes flutter shut. As his eyes close, he finds himself picturing the face of Barbara, contorted in pleasure in that oh so delightful way that it does. Again, he does not find himself terribly inclined towards women, but that sweet, sweet face of hers and the delicious taste of her juices haunt him, and as he pleasures Darci he cannot help but find himself thinking fondly of her. As he strokes himself, he feels a jolt of annoyance as he finds that his pleasure seems to plateau, the relief that he so desperately seeks not drawing any closer as he touches himself in the ways that he knows usually work.   
  
And then, the image of Barbara in his mind's eye morphs rather grotesquely, her soft human features taking on sharp angles and her beautiful silhouette now having the added feature of large horns. He grunts in irritation against Darci, stroking himself a little faster as his arousal spikes again, the image of Angor Rot and his eyes taking over his thoughts.

How very irritating and vain, the part of the curse where Angor made himself the ideal sexual partner for Stricklander!   
  
Then again, who's to say that he wasn't always the ideal?   
  
Strickler pushes the thought from his mind, breathing deeply, picking up the pace as he thrusts into Darci, her sounds perhaps a bit too loud, considering that it would be extremely bad should someone find them like this. But he has no thought in his mind other than reaching his climax - and Darci seems determined to reach her own as well.   
  
Too bad for her that Strickler is a terrible, selfish man.   
  
His stroking becomes erratic, and he moans against her vulva, his eyes opening once more to look up at her. She looks back down at him, pretty lips agape, eyes hooded, and it is a sight that delights him to see. Without warning, he cums, jets of semen spurting from his tip and hitting the wall with a small, wet splat. Pulling back from her, he takes in a few, gasping breaths, and then pulls out his fingers. "No! Don't stop!" she says desperately, trying to pull his face back towards her. Smirking up at her, he moves backwards, pulling his shorts back up.   
  
"Sorry sweetheart, I've got places to be," he says with a shrug, and then starts to get up.   
  
"Oh no you don't." Rather suddenly, she kicks him in the chest, and with a loud grunt he falls onto his back, his head hitting the ground rather sharply.  _ Ow. _ Furrowing his brow, he growls and looks up at her, but she moves far too quickly and within moments she's crouched over his face, and she's not gentle as she lowers her cunt back over his mouth. He makes a surprised sound, but as she grinds down against him, he lets out a sigh and opens his aching mouth, his tongue slicking along her vulva once more. She lets out a content moan, rocking and grinding against his face as she holds his head with both of her hands, his hair like reins, and she moans into the empty classroom once more, a beautiful, devious smile on her face. He would give her detention for this if he could.   
  
As she is once again busy with her own pleasure, Strickler stealthily winds his hand back into his shorts, over the wet tip of his cock and back along his shaft. He did not know how it was possible for his body to produce so much semen, but he can feel that tightness in his balls, and of course his cock was just as hard and painful as always. Stroking feverishly, he finds that somehow - perhaps intuitively? - Darci begins rocking against him in time with his strokes, and he moans against her, his hips wriggling just a bit as he makes time with her. "Oh please Mr. Strickler, oh fuck, that's it right there - oh fuck - oh god I'm gonna-" Almost as if on cue, he can feel that tightening again, and within moments he's cumming again, leaving a wet spot on his briefs, and he moans loudly against her, his tongue embedded in her cunt - and then she too cries out, her body shuddering as she stills above him, her face flushed a pretty red.   
  
And then, something magical happens - and no, it's not some cheesy exaggeration. He can feel his erection lessening, his cock becoming flaccid as Darci comes down from her own high, and he nearly begins crying in relief - but as the realization of what the curse truly is dawns on him, he finds himself becoming angry, and inwardly begins cursing Angor once more. The bastard! As he grows soft in the crotch region, he becomes harder in his heart, and rather abruptly he pulls Darci off of him. Letting out a surprised sound, she falls back against a desk, letting out a small ow. "Wow, good going Mr. Strickler," she says, her tone mocking.   
  
"Fuck off," he growls, reaching into his fanny pack.   
  
"Listen, you're a jerk, but that was good and I'd like to go for round two," she says, and when he looks up at her, she has a look on her face that nearly makes him want to go for it.   
  
But alas - the deadline. And now he has a teacher waiting for him.   
  
"I'm sorry, Darci," he says, wiping saliva and vaginal fluids off of his chin with his hand. "But I'm in a bit of a rush today." He looks at her for a long moment, taking in her sweet features, her soft, nubile young body, the gentle pout of her lips. He sighs, and then wipes his hand on his shorts. "Here, give me your phone." She looks at him for a long moment, suspicious, and then she moves back to where she had deposited her clothes, pulling her cell phone out of her jeans pocket. Hesitantly, she unlocks it and then holds it out to him. He takes it, and makes quick work of putting his phone number into her address book. "There," he says, handing the phone back to her. She looks at him curiously, and he gives her a strange little smile. "Next time you find that the boys just aren't doing it for you, call up a  _ real _ man."   
  
She crinkles her nose in disgust, and as he plays the words back again in his mind, he can't quite blame her. So maybe Darci isn't as into older men as Mary is - it doesn't matter. She's taught him an important lesson.   
  
Although that lesson seems to be wearing off, as he can feel his erection returning. "Fuck!" he shouts, and it causes Darci to jump a little bit, and he lets out a long sigh. "Sorry, it's not you. I've got to go." He begins to dig around in his fanny pack again, and then pauses. He looks up at her, seeing that she's moved to get herself dressed again. As he watches her slide her panties back on, she looks at him curiously.   
  
"What is it?" she asks, and it's not as hostile as he expects.   
  
"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" he asks, and it's already a terrible, stupid idea, but his hand is hovering over the fanny pack's zipper, ready to close it again. Darci lets out a bark of laughter, and then slides her shirt back on over her bralette.   
  
"What would I tell them? I fucked the dorkiest principal in the whole state and I'm thinking of going back for seconds? Fat chance." She laughs then, and he feels a little bit insulted, but relieved. He zips the pack shut.   
  
Getting back to his feet, he moves towards the front of the room, taking a deep breath. As he stops at the door, he turns to look at her again, just as she's beginning to pull back on her shoes. "You're a good kid, Ms. Scott." Looking up at him, she meets his gaze, and after a long moment, she smirks at him.   
  
"And you're a terrible principal, Mr. Strickler." He smirks back at her, shaking his head.   
  
"Thanks."   
  
With that, he opens the door, and exits the room out into the hallway. He's hard again. He kicks the wall in anger, and now he hurts in multiple places.

_ Fuck you, Angor. _


	8. Truckin' and Fuckin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Strickler goes for a ride with Uhl.

Before Strickler makes his way to the teachers lounge, he stops in the men’s room to wash his face and hands (and to dry his underwear.) Uhl had waited for him so far - surely he could wait a few more minutes. As Strickler washes his face, the cold water splashing against his chin and mouth, he thinks of his deadline once more, the stress of his situation beginning to take hold. It has been easy enough for him to seduce who he needs to so far, but he can feel that his body is beginning to get tired, and that despite his rock-hard cock's insatiability, he simply can't keep up. Pulling two paper towels out from the dispenser, he pats his face dry, letting out a deep sigh as his eyes flutter shut.

It's while his eyes are shut that the door to the men's room opens, and he turns, but does not yet open his eyes. They are so, so very tired. "Sorry about the delay, I'm almost done," he says, expecting to hear something gruff and German in response - instead, he gets a low, familiar chuckle, and the ominous thud of the door closing.

"Not by my count, you're not."

Strickler's eyes fly open, and he stares at Angor, his lips pressed into an angry line once again. "You!" The word is accusatory, but is tinged with just a little bit of arousal, and he angrily tosses the used paper towels into the garbage bin next to him, dramatic man that he is. "You disgusting monster! Do you have any idea how much longer it's going to take me if I have to _actually_ get people off?" He steps closer, glaring up at the troll with such hatred that is only matched in that moment by the amusement in the other's gaze.

"Did it occur to you that maybe that's the point?" Angor purrs, reaching out a hand and tilting Strickler's head up with single clawed digit under his chin. The changeling flushes, his heart leaping in his chest at the movement. He wants to curse him out for the extremely irritating and spontaneous lust that Angor has instilled in him, but on the off chance that it's unrelated to the curse, he doesn't say a word. That would simply humiliate him further. Reaching up, he slaps away Angor's hand, hurting his own just a bit in the process.

"Is that what this is about? Some sort of lesson in selflessness? Let me tell you something, you piece of rotten garbage - I have been used by my fair share of trolls, and they never had the sense of decency or respect to get  _ me _ off! After all, who gives a shit about some lowly  _ impure _ ?" The words are a little bit darker and a little bit more honest than he means, but he's tired of this, and the whole thing smacks of something that some shitty sorceror of Gunmar's would do. "So tell me - is that what this is? Some kind of fucked up version of _A Christmas Carol_?" Strickler angrily jabs the troll in the chest, but Angor simply raises a browstone, unmoved by the changeling's words, or by his weak human hand.

"I don't know what that is - but presumably no. I don't expect you to learn anything." Looming over the man, Angor presses him back until Strickler's arse hits the counter, and once again Strickler finds himself thinking about how ideal the height is for the particular activities that his nether regions are aching for. "After all - oh, what is that human saying?" Angor tears his gaze away for a moment, feigning deep thought, and then smirks and looks back into Strickler's eyes, something menacing in that look. "Ah, yes - you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Strickler's nostrils flare, and he's ready to snap at him, to change and punch him hard in the chest - but then, Angor glances down at Strickler's crotch and slowly,  _ agonizingly _ slowly, he reaches down and slides the tip of his claw up the changeling's hard cock. The sensation is bizarre, but it is _extremely_ arousing, and Strickler whimpers, grabbing the counter to hold himself steady. "Then again, you know quite a few tricks, don't you?" Angor's foul breath ghosts over the changeling's face, and Strickler's eyes are dark with lust as he stares up at him, grinding his teeth. He resists the urge to jerk into Angor's hand as the troll slides his claw back down, causing the man's erect cock to twitch.

"Is it  _ later _ yet, or are you just fucking with me?" He grinds out, and the troll chuckles darkly, pulling his hand away.

"Your ride is waiting for you." With a final smirk, Angor moves past him, into the dark corner of the bathroom. Strickler hears a portal open, and then the oppressive weight of Angor's presence is gone.

Damn that troll and his horrible sexual allure.

Pulling himself together, Strickler at last makes his way to the teacher's lounge, and when he arrives, he finds it empty save for Lukas Uhl. The man looks up when the door opens, and he cracks the smallest of smiles at the sight of the principal. Holding up the water bottle, he shakes it just a little bit. "Right where you left it," he says in his ever-endearing accent, and Strickler smiles back, crossing the room to stand with him. He takes the bottle from Uhl, their fingers touching briefly. Neither of them says a word about it.

"Thank you, Lukas," he says, Uhl's first name slipping out with ease now that they are within the confines of the lounge. Opening the bottle, he takes several large gulps, and then lets out a deep sigh of relief when he's done. He does not miss the way that Uhl watches him closely, undisguised lust in his gaze. Strickler smirks at him, a come hither kind of look in his hooded eyes. "Shall we?" Uhl smiles at him, grabbing the strap of his messenger bag and pulling it onto his shoulder.

"Of course."

The school is empty when they leave, save for the janitor, and the parking lot is nearly as devoid of signs of human life. The only two vehicles that remain in the lot are Strickler's car and Uhl's truck, and perhaps for the first time, Strickler feels grateful that he's not getting into his own vehicle. The truck beeps softly as they approach, the sounds of the locks turning at the press of a button. Strickler moves a bit quickly as he approaches the vehicle, moving towards the passenger seat. He waits there patiently for a moment, and then hears the driver's door open. He feels a pang of irritation, the not-so-secret diva part of him rather displeased as he had been expecting Uhl to be a gentleman and open the door for him.

Nonetheless, he pushes the thought aside, his aching groin more than enough incentive to get into the truck, and opens the door. Climbing in, he's impressed by the soft, light smell of leather in the truck, and the immaculate cleanliness of the interior. In spite of himself, he lets out a small  _ oh my, _ taking in all the buttons and switches and how very  _ clean _ they are. Looking at Uhl, he finds the man staring at him expectantly, a smug little smirk on his lips. "Very impressive," Strickler says, running his hand along the leather of the passenger seat.

Uhl does not miss the gesture, and he smirks. "Thank you," he says, shifting ever so slightly in his seat. Hoisting himself up, Strickler slides himself into the seat, the bare skin of his thighs making a bit of an unpleasant sound against the leather. He winces a little bit, looking at Uhl out of the corner of his eye. The man looks rather amused, raising an eyebrow as he glances down at the changeling's skinny, hairy legs, and his itty bitty shorts. "Are those comfortable?" he asks, genuine curiosity in his tone. He says nothing about the blatant outline of the changeling's erection. Strickler lets out a nervous chuckle, reaching for his seat belt.

"Not particularly, but you know..." He trails off, and Uhl doesn't know, but that's okay. With a deliberately slow movement, Uhl inserts the key into the ignition, and as he turns it, the engine comes alive with a lovely, powerful purr - and the German looks at Strickler with a raised eyebrow, and it's the kind of look that sends a shiver down his spine. "Nice," is the only thing that he can think to say, because that look is making him feel things in his chest and his cock is feeling extremely needy, and he needs him to touch him  _ right now.  _ They look at each other for a long moment, the air between them tense. It doesn't take long for the air conditioner to kick in, leaving goosebumps as it blows across Strickler's bare shoulders. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He asks. Uhl gives him a knowing look, and without saying a word, he puts the truck into reverse, and then places his hand on the back of the passenger headrest as he looks over his shoulder.

As he backs out, Strickler takes the opportunity to take in the shape of him while he's spread out - t he general tautness of his body with just the slightest overhang of soft belly over the front of his belt, the faint wetness of sweat in the armpit of his shirt, the fact that he missed a spot on his upper lip while shaving - all of these details might be unappealing to some, but in the thick haze of lust that clouds Strickler's mind, they are things that are all too human, and they are all the more arousing for it.

As he returns to the standard driving position, Uhl glances briefly at Strickler before he starts to pull out of the employee parking lot. "Where do you want to go?" He asks, and the changeling has to remind himself to pull his gaze away from the bulge in the man's pants. Leaning just a little bit over the console, he smiles at him, his hand straying onto the driver's side of the truck.

"Somewhere private," he says confidently, and he half expects Uhl to look surprised, but the man’s mouth simply twitches into a grin, a look which sends something else twitching.

"You can be very _forward,_ Mr. Strickler," Uhl says, his hand sliding across the console and onto Strickler's fingers. His palms are soft, lacking in the callouses that he had expected from such a rough man. Curling his fingers around Uhl's, he pulls his hand up, towards his own mouth. He brushes his lips over the man's knuckles, never looking away from his face.

"I can be when I need to be," he says. “And please - call me Walt.” He then presses a kiss onto his middle finger, and then another, and then gently licks the tip. Taking in a sharp breath, Uhl rather suddenly grabs his chin, causing Strickler to yelp. The German turns to look at him for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the road, but it's more than enough.

"Take off your clothes."

God, his cock hurts.

Uhl pulls his hand back, and Strickler whimpers rather pathetically, already missing his touch although he has only just come to know it. Oh, if only Angor could see him now! Of course, Angor probably  _ can _ see him, and is probably laughing at him. After all, it _is_ rather pathetic how easily Strickler is undone by a stern man giving him orders. But, that's an issue to unpack later - and don't worry, we  _ will _ unpack it. Stricklander’s unpackable issues know no bounds.

Moving more fully back into his seat, he unbuckles his seatbelt, and then his fanny pack, and with a fluid motion he grabs the bottom of his tank top and pulls it over his head, depositing it onto the floor. Feeling rather self conscious, he looks out the window as they drive through town, embarrassed but more than a little thrilled every time they pass by someone. As he toes off his trainers, he sees that Uhl is taking them out of town, out where there is an abandoned strip mall - of course, Uhl doesn't know that the very mall that he's driving them towards is one where there has been  _ many _ a secret troll meeting - but that's not important now.

Glancing at Uhl again, he notices that the bulge in his trousers is a little bigger and he's got the slightest sheen of sweat on his stern face, and there's a sick kind of satisfaction that Strickler feels as he sees the nervousness that the man has on display. Again, we will surely unpack this later. For now, however, it's time for Strickler to do some of his own unpacking, and with little effort he hooks his hands into his shorts and briefs and shimmies out of them, his alarmingly red and engorged cock springing free. As he discards those garments on the floor as well, he reaches down to slip off his socks, still glancing at Uhl's crotch periodically. He does not particularly like the feel of the leather seats against his naked human skin, but it will have to do. He's not sure that Uhl would appreciate the strange beauty of his troll form.

Now fully naked, Strickler leans back in the seat, smirking at Uhl. The German glances at him out of the corner of his eye, briefly looking just a bit concerned as he looks at the man's cock. "Is that what you wanted?" The changeling purrs out, running his hand absently along his own belly, making small circles above his groin. Uhl glances at him again, and he's driving a bit faster now. The buildings are beginning to disappear.

"You have no idea," Uhl responds. His voice is thick both with his accent and with lust. Suddenly, he can see it, the abandoned buildings of the mall decrepit and graffitied beyond recognition. Strickler's heart feels like it's in his throat. As Uhl pulls in, he makes quick work of putting the truck back into park, and with a swift motion he pulls up the console, revealing the middle seat beneath. He unbuckles his seatbelt, and without hesitation he grabs Strickler by the throat and pulls him close. "Waiting for this has been torture," he murmurs against the changeling's lips, and then presses his mouth against them with all the harshness and firmness that Strickler craves. He thinks for a brief moment that three class periods is not a long time to wait for a hookup, but he's distracted by the feeling of the man's teeth sinking into his lower lip.

Of course, he lets out the most embarrassingly weak moan, grabbing Uhl by the back of his neck. As their mouths move against each other, Uhl's lips as surprisingly soft as his hands, Strickler finds himself bucking up, trying to touch his cock to some part of Uhl -  _ any _ part will do at this point. Suddenly, Uhl's hand is wrapped around his shaft, and he lets out a shout against his mouth, his eyes rolling back.

As we've already established, he's a bit dramatic - something which Uhl seems to have noticed. The German pulls back, laughing. "Jesus, you're a bit of a slut, aren't you? I've barely touched you." Strickler’s face flushes as red as his cock, but doesn't protest it - instead, he bucks up again, moaning at the friction.

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me," he says, his breath coming out hard as Uhl strokes him, slow and deliberate. It's nearly as maddening as Angor's constant harassment. Uhl laughs again, and then pushes him back. Latching his mouth onto the changeling's neck, he continues to stroke him slowly, sucking at his throat with surprising tenderness. Strickler writhes under him, his fingers tangled into his blond hair, moans spilling from his lips with ease. As good as it feels, he feels  _ very _ frustrated. " _Fuck_ \- that's - god,  _ please _ just - fuck!" As Uhl kisses his way down Strickler's chest, the changeling breathes harder, scooting further back in his seat to encourage the man further down. Uhl looks up at him with those beautiful, piercing eyes, a rather naughty smirk on his lips as he finally reaches Strickler's groin.

"You're very impatient aren't you?" He asks, and then without warning, he wets his lips and sucks the tip of Strickler's cock into his mouth. The changeling's other hand smacks against his headrest loudly, and he grips the leather hard, crying out.

"Oh, _fuck!_ " Uhl hums around his cock, his tongue swirling around the tip in such a delightful way as his large hand encompasses the rest of his shaft, and Strickler nearly feels like crying. The German holds his hips down with one arm across his lower abdomen as he sucks and licks his cock. Of course, with the numerous orgasms that Strickler has already had, and the fact that he is beyond overstimulated, it takes less than ten seconds of Uhl's skilled tongue working its magic for Strickler to cum with a loud shout, spurting semen into the back of the man's mouth. Pulling back in surprise, a little bit of Strickler’s promiscuous seed drips out of Uhl's mouth and onto Strickler's pubis before he closes his mouth and swallows.

Oh god. The judgement on Uhl's face is painful.

Flushed bright red with embarrassment, Strickler is tempted to get the Neuralizer right now.

"I'm... oh god..."

"Did that really... just happen?" Uhl asks incredulously, sitting up again.

"You're uh…” He’s scrambling for an excuse. “... _ really _ good. Did they teach you that in Germany?" Strickler laughs awkwardly, and Uhl frowns.

"I'm Austrian."

Oh  _ god. _ His hand is twitching now, and he glances at his fanny pack where it lays on the floor.

"Oh uh... I didn't... know..."

Wiping his mouth, Uhl looks down at Strickler's cock again, and raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you... still hard?" Strickler laughs, but it sounds more like a sob.

"Yes. I've been like this all day." Rather abruptly, he sits up, and then grabs the front of Uhl's trousers. The Austrian lets out a sound of surprise, and Strickler swears that he blushes a little bit. "The only way to  _ really _ get me off is to get you off." He somehow manages to make it sound sexy, even with the intense judgement on Uhl's face, and drawing closer, he flicks his tongue out, licking a stray drop of cum from the corner of his mouth. "So let me get you off."

Uhl suddenly grabs his wrist, and for a tense moment, Strickler thinks that he's going to make him stop, and that he will have to continue to suffer his painful erection for another long stretch of time while he awkwardly drives him back to his car. But then, Uhl looks down at his lips, and there's another long moment, and then he's kissing him again, using the leverage he has on Strickler's wrist to press his hand harder against his clothed cock. Letting out a pleased moan, Strickler shifts closer, bringing his legs up onto the seat. Moving swiftly, he undoes Uhl's belt, and then makes quick work of the button and the zipper of his trousers. Pulling away from his mouth, Strickler watches his hand as he slips it into the Austrian's boxers, and then pulls his cock out. He frowns a little bit as he notes that it is definitely bigger than his, but then he feels a little thrill as he imagines sucking it, and any envy he feels is temporarily pushed aside.

Looking back into Uhl’s eyes, bright green meeting bright blue, he smiles, brushing his nose against the other man's. “You have a beautiful cock,” he says, stroking it lightly. Uhl shudders, letting go of his wrist, instead grabbing the door with one hand and Strickler's headrest with the other.

“Thank you,” he says politely. Strickler gives him a small peck on the lips, and then bends down, wrapping his lips around the man's shaft. The moan that Uhl lets out is deep and satisfying, and the changeling feels a swell of pride in his chest. As per usual, his unoccupied hand finds its way to his own cock, and as he sucks and bobs his head on Uhl's shaft, he keeps time with himself. The sounds that the other man makes are delightful, and his excitement and confidence quickly returns as the Austrian's arousal mounts.

“Oh, fuck, oh  _ ja, _ oh Walt -” He thinks the way that his name sounds with Uhl’s accent is terribly cute, and he feels genuine joy. At the sound of it, Strickler takes him deeper, wet, slick sounds filling the cab as he sucks away merrily. He feels Uhl smooth his hand along his spine, and with a purr that is decidedly not human, he raises his arse a little higher, encouraging the man’s hand further. Uhl hums in pleasure, and Strickler feels him pull his hand back. He’s disappointed for a moment until he looks up to see that Uhl has his fingers in his mouth, and he’s staring directly into Strickler’s eyes. Feeling another jolt, the changeling flutters his eyes at the other man prettily, delighted as he watches him pull out his fingers and reach back towards Strickler’s arse. As he feels the wet digits against his puckered hole, he lets out a moan.

Between the feel of the cock in his mouth and the pads of Uhl’s fingers against his entrance and his own feverish stroking, it’s all nearly too much for Strickler, the haze thicker than ever. He closes his eyes, not surprised when he finds Angor waiting for him in the dark, his lust nearly palpable in his mind’s eye. He’s still angry at the troll, as one might expect, but as he sucks off his favorite teacher in the cab of said teacher’s truck, he finds himself for the briefest moment grateful Angor’s depraved game.

Uhl barely gets his middle finger into Strickler’s ass to the first knuckle when all of a sudden the Austrian is moaning louder, bucking into his mouth, his hand suddenly on the back of the changeling’s neck. “Oh Walt, oh  _ Walt, _ I’m gonna -” He cuts himself off with a cry, and Strickler moans as he feels the ripple through his shaft as Uhl cums in his mouth, his salty semen thick on his tongue. It’s enough to push him over the edge again, and he moans around Uhl’s shaft as he spurts another, smaller batch of cum right onto his precious leather seats. As Uhl catches his breath, his cock twitching in Strickler’s mouth, he strokes the changeling’s salt and pepper locks, pulling his one phalange free of his anus. Pulling the cock free from his mouth with a pop, Strickler grins at Uhl, and the other man smiles back, letting out a laugh. “Thank you, Mr. Strickler.” Pulling him up, Uhl kisses him again, and there’s that tenderness again, and Strickler gets a very… odd feeling in his chest.

He elects to ignore it, and simply leans into the kiss, smiling against the other man’s lips. Blissfully, he can feel his cock limp and wet against his thigh, like a cold, overcooked noodle. Pulling away from Uhl, their lips parting with a light  _ smack, _ he playfully pats the man’s cheek. “Thanks for the ride,” he said, and then rather gracelessly plops back into his seat, bending over to grab his briefs and shorts. Uhl watches him for a moment, smiling absently.

“Maybe I can take you for the  _ other _ kind of ride next time,” he says, and Strickler looks at him rather suddenly, both eyebrows raised in surprise.  _ Oh. _ He laughs a little bit, his cheeks pink as he lets out that unflattering snort.

“Yeah, of course. I’d like that.” Too bad the poor sod won’t remember this ride after he drops the changeling off. As Uhl pulls himself together and Strickler pulls his clothes back on, the man smiles warmly at him - but his face changes as soon as his gaze lowers and he sees the little wet spot on his leather seats.

“ _ What _ is that, Mr. Strickler?” He asks, although he knows very well what it is, and Strickler looks up rather like a deer in the headlights. Glancing between Uhl and the spot of cum, he chuckles nervously, and attempts to put on a seductive smile.

“Oh, as you can see I’ve been a naughty boy - but don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.” Bending over, he maintains eye contact with Uhl as he licks the wet spot from the seat, his own cum cold and rather unappealing as he scoops it into his mouth. Uhl watches him, unimpressed, and as Strickler sits back up, he swallows and then clears his throat. “I’ll uh - pay for cleaning, if you need it.” Uhl looks at him for a long moment, and then smiles just a little bit.

“You most certainly will. You can bring the money with you next time.” Reaching for his seatbelt, Uhl buckles back in, and Strickler follows suit. Settling rather awkwardly back into his seat, he says nothing as the Austrian begins driving them back to school, the familiar sights of Arcadia coming into view. The ride is silent, save for Uhl’s soft humming of some tune that Strickler doesn’t know, the man’s fingers tapping out a rhythm against the steering wheel. As he listens, he stealthily unzips his fanny back, feeling around inside. He feels the sunglasses and the Neuralizer, as well as his remaining condoms - but the bag feels strangely… empty.

It is with a sudden jolt that he remembers the lust charm which has proved so useful throughout the day with its strange troll magicks, and he feels panic rising as he thinks of it. That is not the sort of thing that should be left lying around - what if someone else finds it? Glancing covertly at the floor of the truck, he finds that it is pristine, without any stray object in sight. When had he dropped it?  _ Where _ had he dropped it?

And then, all of a sudden, a thought occurs to him, and he feels his heart skip a beat. As he looks over at the happily humming teacher behind the wheel, he sees no signs of sorcery, and the implications hit him like a freight train. He doesn’t even notice when they pull into the school parking lot, and when Uhl parks the truck and turns to him, the Austrian smiles at him sneakily. “Well, this is where you  _ get off, _ ” he says, chuckling just a little bit. Strickler smiles at him, and it’s painfully awkward, but he feels a warmth in his chest.

“Thanks, Lukas,” he says, zipping his fanny pack shut. “I hope we can do this again soon.”

It makes him uncomfortable that the words are almost sincere - but not as uncomfortable as his once again raging hard-on


	9. A Very Salacious Punishment (Intermission)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me, your complete gay mess of a host, and I'm back with some self indulgent trash before we get into the next section of this disaster of a story. Please enjoy! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

As soon as Uhl pulls out of the parking lot, Strickler standing to the side and waving goodbye, the changeling suddenly whirls around and sprints back into the building, preparing to track back along the path that he had made during his previous escapades. The school is blissfully empty, save for the janitor who is currently busy in the girls’ locker room - and it’s a good thing, because the janitor is a non essential NPC, and that would require the author of this preposterous tale to make up a whole new character for Strickler to make love to in the most unappealing way possible.

Hurrying through the halls, Strickler stops in the men’s room before heading to the gym, searching both locations with desperate eyes, hoping beyond hope that no one found the currently missing charm. He can almost hear the mocking voice of Angor, ridiculing him for losing such an important object, but the troll has yet to make a reappearance. Unsuccessful in finding the charm in the gym, Strickler continues on to Uhl’s classroom, and is immediately swept up in a feeling of immense relief as he spots the lightly glowing artifact against the back wall. Heaving a great sigh, Strickler smiles a bit to himself and walks forward into the room, quickly reaching the charm, and bends down to pick it up.

As he straightens up again, he freezes, suddenly feeling a shiver run down his spine. He is no longer alone. “Don’t move,” the voice behind him says, a low purr that sends desire shooting through him. The last of the afternoon light streams in through the window, projecting a great shadow against the wall that envelops Strickler’s own. He stares at the shadow, watching it intently as its arms reach up and out, Walter’s heart hammering with fear and lust all at once. There’s something different about this visit that makes him incredibly nervous, the playfully menacing energy of Angor’s devious wrath replaced with something much darker, more sinister. Strickler takes in a sharp breath as he feels Angor’s stone hands ghosting over the hairs of his arms, but never making contact.

Oh, now that is just  _ cruel. _

Even though the Inferna Copula glows bright on his fingers, protecting him from immediate harm at the hands of the troll, there’s something about this moment that has instilled a deep fear, a pool of something primal that Angor has managed to tap into - and so Strickler stands frozen, uncomfortable and painfully thrilled as those phantom-light hands move across him. “You lost it,” he purrs, and Strickler shudders in spite of himself.

“I got it back,” he retorts, eyes still fixed on the slow, deliberate movements of the shadow on the wall. How enormous he looks when silhouetted like this, a great figure pinned against the wall - and that’s exactly where Strickler wishes he was in this moment. But of course, he knows Angor well enough to know that his intentions are surely much more wicked than that, and almost certainly not in a way that Strickler will find enjoyable.

“That does not matter, Impure,” he breathes, hot air tickling the back of his neck. The urge to move is strong, but he still remains immobile. “You should take better care of your things.” Angor’s hand moves down the changeling’s arm, hovering over the hand which wears the Inferna Copula. The fear becomes overwhelming for a moment, and then another. “Well, I’ll have to punish you, won’t I?” Rather suddenly, Angor grips him with both hands on his upper arms, holding him fast, and Strickler lets out a startled squeak. Angor leans in further, and without warning he slips his tongue out, the muscle hot and wet as he slides it up the side of the changeling’s neck. Strickler lets out a pathetic mewl at this, his knees shaking, his hands clenched into fists, the charm clenched in his right.

“Go to your car,” Angor whispers into his ear, and then just as suddenly releases him, and the shadow vanishes. Strickler shudders, still staring wide-eyed at the wall which now only houses his own shadow. He can hear his heart pounding loud in his ears, and as he stands there, he contemplates what horrors Angor could possibly have planned for him. Would he create another restriction? Would he change the timeline? Would another rule that Strickler didn't know about suddenly come into play?

There’s no point in standing around thinking about it. It’s the conclusion that he’s come to, but the anxiety that’s trembling through his body is making it hard for him to comply. After another few agonizing moments, he finally tears his gaze away from the wall and turns towards the door, the charm still clutched tightly in his fist. The trek back out of the school is upsettingly uneventful, providing no escape for Strickler to delay the inevitable with.

He secretly hopes that it is the later that Angor had promised, but he knows that it almost certainly is not. He almost laughs at the grand irony of his situation. Who is the master now?

When Strickler makes it out to the parking lot, the sun is still hovering just barely above the horizon, beautiful purples and reds and yellows coloring the sky in a sunset. He pauses outside his car to look at it for a moment, taking in the beauty of it. It strikes him that it’s a bit sad that a troll like Angor never gets to experience anything like this.

Or at least, if he were to experience it, it would be exactly once.

Finally, Strickler opens the car door and gets in, his body releasing some of the tension held within it as he sinks into the imprint in the seat that his daily routine has created. Nothing happens, not right away. It’s still too bright, although there are mere minutes left until the sun vanishes from the sky completely, and Strickler finds himself unable to relish his few moments of freedom before Angor’s mysterious punishment.

One.

His shirt is sweaty in the back, uncomfortable and sticky against his skin as he adjusts to his new seating arrangement.

Two.

His throat is dry, and he realizes yet again that he’s left his water bottle behind in the school, and he nearly gets back out to go get it.

Three.

He’s stopped by the feeling of another presence in the car, the suspension lowering as a great deal of weight is added to the back seat. He feels a churning in his gut. He dares not look in the rear view mirror as he leans his head against the headrest, inhaling deeply. Would death be quicker and easier than this? Probably. It would certainly hurt less than his magically engorged cock.

“Well?” Strickler manages to grind out, although his voice is barely above a whisper. “Are you going to  _ stare _ me to death?” He spits the word out, and it’s barely past his lips before he feels a large hand slide around his neck, and he inhales sharply. He can hear Angor sniff, and then chuckle, surely smelling the spike in fear that the changeling just gave off.  _ Damn it. _

“Death is too good for you, Stricklander,” he purrs, his fingers resting lightly on the changeling’s throat. He leans close, and still Strickler refuses to look in the mirror for fear of what he might see.  _ “Take it out, you disgusting creature,” _ Angor speaks in Trollish, a particular dialect that is long forgotten by the trolls of Trollmarket, but not by the two of them. Strickler swallows hard, his face hot and his body tense. Slowly, his hands shaking, he reaches down and shimmies his shorts and briefs down around his thighs, exposing himself to the other occupant of the car. Angor gives no reaction other than a curt  _ “Good” _ before pulling his head back a little tighter against the headrest.

Strickler lets out an unwitting  _ nngh _ at the movement, squeezing his eyes shut. His engorged cock hurts so very much, and he finds that the sensation of fingers around his throat causes that feeling to increase tenfold as he experiences a spike of arousal. Does the bastard know his  _ kinks _ ? That is an infuriating thing, as is everything else that Angor has done to him on this day. Yes, he had joked that this is his favorite kind of torture with Barbara before stealing her memories of his words, but he is finding that even this is a bit much for his tastes.

_ “Take it in your hand,” _ Angor purrs, his breath hot on Strickler’s ear. Said ear becomes redder as the changeling blushes to the color of a tomato (not a good look on his pale skin,) before he slowly does as he’s commanded, taking in a sharp inhale as he wraps his fingers around his cock.  _ “Stroke it,” _ the words sound somehow even more salacious in the Trollish tongue that Angor speaks, and he twitches in his hand as he slowly begins stroking, pinpricks rushing up and down along his spine. He presses his lips firmly together, his gaze falling to stare at the reddened head of his cock. The sound of blood rushing in his ear nearly drowns out the sound of his strokes, quickly becoming fast and desperate, but it does not drown out the sound of Angor chuckling in his ear.

“Do you not like this, Stricklander?” Angor purrs, his stone nose brushing against the changeling’s ear. Strickler moans just a little bit, a small sound, and then lets out an irritated huff.

“Don't say that,” he grinds out through rapid breaths, his strokes even more desperate. “The author can only recycle that line so many times before it becomes clear that it’s a kink of his.” Angor pays him no mind, simply chuckling lowly.

“But you  _ do _ like it, don’t you?” He asks, his fingers tighter around the changeling’s neck. Strickler’s breathing becomes more labored, his mind fuzzier. Without warning, Angor slides his tongue along the back of Strickler's ear, and the changeling makes a truly embarrassing groan, squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth agape.

“Oh fuck, Angor I’m gonna-”

_ “Stop.” _

Strickler freezes, his eyes flying open at how quickly he obeyed the command. No. No no no no no. “ _ Please, _ Angor - I’m so fucking close - you  _ absolute _ bastard - just let me have  _ one _ fucking thing -” Angor cuts him off by pulling him tighter against the headrest, and the Inferna Copula begins to glow in warning.

“Think about it, Stricklander,” the troll says, his voice thick with mockery. “Even if you cum now, it will be a matter of moments before you’re right back where you started.” Strickler whimpers, clutching his throbbing cock a little bit too tight, and he bucks against the seat but does not stroke himself. “After all, you’ve done nothing for me - I don’t get  _ any _ sexual satisfaction out of this.” It reads like a lie, and Strickler squeezes his eyes shut again, his heart racing, the whimpering becoming louder. Angor knows exactly which buttons to push, and it’s fucking infuriating. “Now let go.” Again, as if possessed by the will of Angor himself, Strickler releases his cock without hesitation and allows his hand to drop to his side. Angor pulls his hand back, allowing the changeling to breathe normally, and he immediately begins coughing, taking in too much air at once.

Doubled over, his deep gasps eventually shallowing out to normal breathing, he looks out the windshield, glaring at nothing in particular. “Fuck you. I  _ despise _ you.” Angor chuckles again.

“No you don’t. Who else would make your fantasies come true in this way?” Angor sounds downright jovial, and it’s unnerving to say the least. “Gunmar thinks you’re even more disgusting than I do. Deep down, you  _ need _ this.”

As he breathes in deeply one last time, Strickler is overwhelmed with hatred and the knowledge that he’s right. “Nevertheless, fuck you.” He says. Angor laughs again.

“No, fuck  _ you. _ ” And with that, he slaps a hand on Strickler’s bare shoulder, and it’s cold and wet. The changeling scrunches up his nose, and then feels an even greater anger as he looks at his shoulder and recognizes the substance left behind as troll semen.

But alas - Angor is already gone, and the moment for doing anything to relieve the pain in his cock has passed.

_ Fuck you. _


	10. A Dip in the Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good god, this took forever to write. This porn has WAY too much plot in it. I apologize. It got a little serious and long too, but these two just have too much angst between them to have it jump straight to the porking. Oh well! Thanks for tuning in for another installment of my greatest pride and my deepest shame! This one is dedicated to Void because... you know. ;-)

As darkness descends on Arcadia, stress continues to grow within Strickler, the need to catch up with Angor’s ridiculous deadline pressing down on him. He is making good progress, but he’s not as far as he wants to be as the first day draws to a close. Getting a good night’s rest would be ideal so that he can get back to business tomorrow, but he does not know if it’s possible as is - his eternally painful erection is certainly no help in the matter.

Relaxation seems especially difficult in his own home, considering the fact that Angor is currently sitting on Strickler’s ugly orange couch, watching television as he shovels popcorn (covered in some kind of vile green substance) into his mouth. He wishes that he could kick the troll out, but he gets the distinct impression that such a thing would not be possible. Besides, he’s not feeling particularly confident about confronting Angor, considering how their most recent interaction went. In spite of himself, he flushes at the memory of the troll’s fingers around his throat.

As time moves forward, he feels less and less confident around Angor. He deeply regrets raising him up from his deathlike state, regrets bringing him to Arcadia, regrets even hearing his  _ name _ \- but it’s too late for all that now. Maybe he’ll at least get a good fuck out of it at some point, if Angor gets bored and horny enough.

Having showered (and jerked off another two times,) Strickler comes to stand behind the couch, towelling off his hair as he looks at the television. He raises his eyebrow as he sees that it’s a pro-wrestling match, and then glances at Angor, surprised to see how enthralled the troll is. Televisions have a bit of a mind altering effect on troll brains (which is part of the reason that Strickler owns one in the first place,) but Angor seems to be genuinely intrigued by the match, and winces out an  _ ooh _ when one muscley man suplexes the other. It’s admittedly rather amusing to see Angor so openly interested in something - Strickler almost dares to think it  _ endearing _ \- but his frustration at the troll cannot allow him to follow that train of thought.

“Is this a pay-per-view?” Strickler asks all of a sudden, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. He knows for a fact that Angor does not have any human currency - he doesn’t even have any  _ troll _ currency. After all, what’s the point of credit cards and cash when you can murder your way through everything?

“Aren’t you supposed to be fucking something?” Angor replies without a moment’s hesitation before he shovels another handful of popcorn into his mouth. Strickler frowns, resists the overwhelming urge to punch the troll in the back of his head, and turns on his heel to go back upstairs.

Yes, he  _ is _ supposed to be fucking something - and he knows just who it will be. He has yet to spend the night at the Lake residence at all, but he’s sure that Barbara won’t mind a sleepover tonight. Besides, after his adventurous afternoon, he’s a bit ready for something more familiar. So, with the intention of having a good lay and then a good night’s sleep, Strickler dons some nice black trousers, a flamingo-patterned button down with the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows, and some shiny black loafers. He spends an unnecessarily long time styling his hair into its usual pompadour before he makes his way back downstairs, making sure to check himself out in the full-length mirror as he makes his way past. He doesn’t catch Angor rolling his eyes as he watches him do this, and perhaps that’s for the best.

Stopping in the kitchen, he pulls an unopened bottle of riesling from the fridge, and then makes his way back into the living room. On the television, one muscley man has the other one pinned, and it look like he’s going to win - but oh no! The other muscley man has gotten free, and is now beating him with his fists. Fantastic. Angor is delighted, if the dark chuckling is any indicator of his mood. Strickler stands, staring at Angor for several moments, his eyebrow raised expectantly. The troll pays him no mind, and so he clears his throat, and only then does Angor slowly turn to look at him. With one hand perched on his hip, the other holding up the bottle of wine, his torso adorned with bright pink birds and his erection straining against his trousers, Strickler has quite a look going on. The troll smirks to himself.  _ Cute. _ “Make sure you turn off the TV when you’re done,” Strickler scolds, a hint of fatherly disapproval in his voice.

“You should probably hurry up before your cock explodes,” Angor says, and as if on command the changeling feels a particularly painful throb in his groin.

“Fuck you. You’re horrible and I hate you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the door clicks shut, Angor shoves more popcorn into his mouth, and with half-chewed kernels spraying out from between his tusks, he shouts out at the TV.

“Do a piledriver!”

* * *

 

The drive to the Lake residence is uneventful, due largely to the fact that Arcadia is not known for its nightlife, and becomes rather quiet after about 8pm. Strickler has to put a lot of willpower into not jerking off in the car, the friction of his trousers and the jostling of the car being a rather problematic combination for his current situation.  _ You’ll fuck her soon, and things will be better _ , he tells himself, but the thought of Barbara’s sweet face contorted in pleasure and her supple breasts heaving with effort does not help his dilemma.  _ Fuck _ . He closes his eyes for a few moments, and then opens them again to find that he needs to quickly jerk the wheel so as not to crash into a lamp post.

The three days will feel even longer than he originally thought.

Pulling up to the Lake residence, he’s a bit dismayed as he sees that Barbara’s car is not there, and there are no lights on in the house.  _ Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. _ Did she get called in to the hospital? Is she not home yet? Either way, he feels tense as he parks, staring at the dark house. He should have sent her a message first, asking, but it’s too late now. Should he just… go in? It seems like maybe a bad idea, but staring at the house while sitting in his car doesn’t look great either. He certainly would like to avoid a tense conversation with Detective Scott at the next parent-teacher conference - nevermind the fact that he’s fucked his daughter.

Making up his mind, Strickler gets out of the car, wine bottle in hand, and confidently approaches the house. He’s a bit surprised to find that the door is unlocked, but it’s not the first highly convenient thing that he’s experienced in the last day, and so he does not question it. The house is silent as he enters, and it’s clear that it truly is empty. Even the troll that dwells in the basement seems to be out, as he cannot hear the faintest stirrings below. Walking into the living room, he notes the immaculate condition that it’s in, same as it always is. He sets the bottle down on the coffee table (a little bit more gently than he had the night before,) and then takes another cursory look around.  _ Should I just… make myself comfortable? _ It feels strange to make himself at home at a place where he does not live, but on the other hand, the more settled in he is, the more quickly he and Dr. Lake can  _ get busy _ . He smirks to himself, but the smirk quickly fades as he feels another painful pang in his crotch.

Maybe alcohol will help. It’s a stupid thought, but what about this entire scenario  _ isn’t _ stupid?

Entering the kitchen, he goes through the cabinets until he finds two wine glasses. As he goes to leave the kitchen, it occurs to him that he is walking around in complete darkness, something that will probably look a bit ominous when Barbara arrives. He’s not thrilled about the idea of turning on the fixtures as he does not care for the harsh quality of artificial light (or the fact that for some ungodly reason Barbara buys cool white bulbs,) and so he begins searching through the drawers, looking for some candles. Finding them, he grabs a couple of candlestick holders and a lighter and then makes his way back out to the living room. He makes quick work of setting the scene, two candles burning and creating a soft, romantic light as he pours wine into the two glasses. He prefers dry reds, but he isn’t too picky about the sweetness of the wine as he downs the entire glass in one gulp, and then proceeds to pour another.  _ This is a bad idea. _ He knows that it is, but rational thought has long been thrown out the window. After all, when one has been sex-cursed by an assassin/wizard/wrestling fanatic/evil bastard, one’s priorities must change.

Strickler downs the second glass. And then a third. They’re not large glasses, but by the time he downs the fourth, he’s beginning to feel its effects. He’s also beginning to wonder where Barbara is. Groaning in frustration, he shuts his eyes, rubbing his cock through his trousers, letting out a rattling growl as he tries to get some relief. Grinding his hips, he pushes himself up into his hand, the fifth glass of wine tipping rather precariously towards the couch as he loses focus, his growl morphing into a pathetic whimper. Yet another thing that Angor would surely laugh about, were he here - but he’s not, and so Strickler does not allow himself to feel shame for it.

As Strickler is wantonly half pleasuring himself on the couch, he hears the front door click open, and he instantly straightens up, posing himself on the couch in such a way that is suave and does not at all reveal that seconds before in which he had been writhing around like a horny teenager. He tries to not let his excitement show, but his arousal has become unbearable, and he’s delighted that the opportunity has at last arrived for him to ravish the most beautiful doctor in Arcadia. The footsteps he hears move towards the living room immediately, and then pause. For some reason Strickler finds himself unable to speak. There is something about the quiet of the house that feels wrong to break, and as much as he wants to greet her, to beckon her in, to seduce her with the sound of his voice alone - something is off, and he can’t do it.

And what’s more, he can’t turn to look at her either.

_ What? _ All of a sudden, he feels something churning in his gut, and the feeling is less than stellar, and the weird buzzing in his chest very much feels like some kind of dark magic.  _ What has he done now? _ The steps continue again, and Strickler feels a twinge of panic crawl up the back of his neck. Taking in a deep breath, he at last forces himself to speak. “Welcome home, Barbara. Why don’t you come here, have a glass of wine? I can rub your feet - I’m sure they hurt from all the standing you’ve been doing.” She’s silent, and as she rounds the corner, Strickler sees that it’s not a she at all. The look on Jim’s face is equal parts confused and a low-simmering rage.

“What are you doing in my house, Strickler?” His voice is youthful as always, but it has a dark quality to it this evening that’s unnervingly alluring in the quiet darkness of his living room. Strickler looks up at him, and he feels his cheeks flush and his cock twitch.  _ Oh no. _ Strickler’s lips part slightly, and with his legs spread wide as they are, all Jim needs to do to see his shame is to look down - that, and squint because it’s fairly dark. As Strickler looks up at him, the trollhunter does not move, his entire body still as a statue, the tension in his body readily apparent. The grip that he has on the strap of his bag is visibly tight, white-knuckled. He’s anticipating a fight, but he doesn’t realize that the man before him very suddenly has a different physically strenuous activity in mind as he looks up at the boy. “You’re not welcome here - I don’t care what mom says.”

The situation is bad, but with the other bad decisions he’s made today, this one will be in good company.

Strickler does not look away from Jim’s bright blue eyes as he raises his wine glass up, closer to his mouth. Smirking ever so slightly, he tilts his head. “Welcome home, Jim,” he purrs, his tone suddenly more seductive than it had been before. Jim flushes, but does not move. “Why don’t you come here, have a glass of wine?” He nods to the glass on the coffee table, his voice soft. “I’m sure you’ve had a long day as well.” Jim looks at him, and then the wine, and then back at him.

“I’m not old enough to drink, Strickler. I'm only eighteen,” Jim says, but his voice doesn’t have a hard  _ no _ to it.

“You are where  _ I _ come from,” Strickler argues, raising an eyebrow. Jim’s lips form a hard line for a moment before he speaks.

“And what  _ pit _ is that?” He spits the word out, but it lacks the venom that he so often has these days.

“Come now, Jim,” the changeling says. “Don’t you think it’s time for us to…  _ bond _ a bit?” His words have a decidedly seductive lilt. “We’ve become so distant, I’d very much like us to be… closer.” Jim frowns, clenching his fists.

“Yeah, we  _ are _ pretty distant these days. Maybe that’s because you turned out to be an evil troll, and you keep trying to  _ kill _ me.” It’s a fair assessment, but still it stings to hear the words come out of Jim’s mouth. Strickler is a bastard, and he knows this of himself - but hearing it so frankly is just a bit upsetting. Out of the mouth of babes, and all that.

“I think it’s time we move past that, don’t you? I’ve had a pretty rough day, it’s making me think about a lot of things-”  _ mostly how much I want to suck on your neck right now _ “-and I think we should make out- up! We should make up.” Jim absolutely catches Strickler’s slip up, and he flushes again and looks even more nervous, but is not yet bolting for the door. “So please - won’t you sit and have a drink with me?” Reaching out, Strickler extends his long, slender fingers, and pats the space on the couch next to him. Jim visibly swallows, and contemplates his teacher for a long few moments. Strickler takes a sip of his wine, not looking away from the trollhunter, and dribbles some wine out of the corners of his mouth. He tries to play it off, but Jim absolutely notices.

“Losing control of your mouth, old man?” he quips. Strickler narrows his eyes, and then grins.

“Oh I assure you, I have perfect control over my mouth, and I can make it do exactly as I wish.” Strickler smirks devilishly. Jim scowls, his nose scrunching up rather adorably.

There is silence between them for a long, long time after that. It’s extremely uncomfortable. At last, Jim lets his bag slip from his shoulder, landing with a dull  _ thud _ on the hardwood floor. Circling around, Jim grabs the glass of wine, and then pauses again before taking the seat that has been offered to him. As he sinks into the cushions of the couch, he does not take his gaze away from the changeling who is staring at him with heavily lidded eyes. He begins raising the glass to his mouth, has a thought, and then lowers it. Strickler looks at him curiously, and then watches as the boy holds out the glass towards him, a mistrustful look in his eye. “I don’t know what you did to this,” he offers as an explanation, but it’s really an unspoken demand in disguise. The changeling looks at him, and then the glass, and reaches out with his free hand to pull Jim’s closer. The boy straightens up a little bit more, but does not pull away as Strickler’s fingers cover his, using his leverage to pour just a bit of the liquid into his mouth. Jim watches, and then looks at Strickler’s face only to realize that the man is staring at him as he swallows. He looks away, and Strickler can see a bit of a blush creeping across his cheeks.

Tipping the glass upright, he releases Jim’s hand and sits back against the couch, looking at the boy expectantly. Still red in the face, Jim’s back is straight and his eyes are wide as he stares at the man, his free hand balled into a fist in his lap. Looking back at the glass he pauses for a moment before looking back at Strickler. “What is this?” he asks.

“It’s a riesling,” Strickler replies, swirling the wine in his own glass.

“No, I don’t mean that,” Jim says, placing the glass back down on the table. Strickler tilts his head curiously. “What are you doing?” The changeling feigns concern, glancing between his glass and the boy sitting next to him.

“Whatever do you mean?” he asks coyly, leaning forward to place his glass on the table as well before steepling his fingers together in his lap. The trollhunter watches him like a hawk, brow furrowed. He’s silent for another few moments before he speaks.

“My mom isn’t home, and when when I came in and you found out it was me you didn’t blow out the candles and turn on the lights or anything. It’s late and my mother is on the night shift so we’re all alone for the whole night, and you’re offering me wine.” As Jim lists his observations, Strickler nods along in mock thoughtfulness, stretching one arm along the top of the couch behind the trollhunter. Jim pauses again, gnawing on his lower lip. “Is this a seduction, Mr. Strickler?” There’s something about the combination of the use of  _ mister _ and the words that Jim speaks that sends a shiver down Strickler’s spine, and he grins rather wickedly. He leans closer, testing the limits, and Jim does not pull back. Slowly, he reaches out with his other hand and places it on Jim’s knee.

“Is that what you would like it to be, Mr. Lake Junior?” His breath is hot and smells like wine across Jim’s lips.

“It’s  _ just _ Mr. Lake, which you know,” Jim replies, his gaze falling to Strickler’s mouth, which is in fact getting closer. “Do you normally forget how to speak like a human when drinking?” Ignoring the jab, Strickler tries his luck and slides his hand up onto Jim’s thigh. The boy still doesn’t move away.

“Doesn’t this feel right?” he purrs, the tips of their noses brushing against each other. “Doesn’t this feel like the natural conclusion of the tension between us?” Pulling on Jim’s leg, he spreads his thighs, his hand slipping higher and higher. “Something tells me that you’ve wanted this for as long as I have.” The words surprise even himself, a truth laid bare that he had never really noticed was there. His eyes are nearly closed as his lips ghost over Jim’s, the tantalizing closeness of their flesh causing something to flutter in his stomach - or perhaps it’s just the alcohol.

As soon as their lips brush, Jim abruptly stands up and steps back, staring down at Strickler. The changeling likewise stares up at him, at once wondering if he misread the situation. He suddenly remembers that he had left his fuck kit at home as he had not anticipated needing it, and his anxiety spikes.  _ Oh no. _ No fuck kit means no lust charm, and more importantly no Guillermo Del Toro’s Neuralizer™. Oh, he certainly has fucked up now. “Now Jim, listen to me-”

“Clean this up and come upstairs,” Jim says curtly, grabbing his bag from the floor and turning on his heel towards the stairs. Strickler watches him go, flabbergasted. Pausing at the foot of them, Jim does not bother to turn to look at him before speaking once more. “And you should move your car also. Maybe take it to the next block.” With that, he ascends the stairs, and out of Strickler’s line of sight. The changeling stares at the spot where he disappeared for several moments before he leaps up and into action, making quick work of putting away the candles and tidying the couch. He goes to down the rest of the wine, but feels a wave of nausea and pours it down the sink instead. Exiting the house, he takes the empty wine bottle with him to his car, surprising himself with how steadily he’s walking. As he gets into the vehicle, it occurs to him that perhaps this is a trap, some sort of twisted sting operation. His paranoia nearly causes him to drive home, but with his blood alcohol levels he really is asking for a premature visit with Detective Scott.

Carefully and  _ very _ slowly, Strickler drives the car a couple of roads down and parks in front of a conveniently abandoned home at 37 Twinkle Drive (which he has, of course, used for illicit hookups in the past.) Getting out of the car, he feels another wave of nausea, and as it hits him he rushes over to the overgrown bushes in front of the house and vomits into them. Shakily wiping his mouth, he grimaces and walks back over to the car, pulling out 3 breath mints from a container he keeps in his glove box and popping them into his mouth before locking the car. As he walks back to the Lake residence, the fresh air combined with the overpowering mint on his tongue helps him cling to his senses better, and he feels the beginnings of sobriety worming their way in. Unfortunately, with sobriety comes increased paranoia, and he finds himself scanning the homes as he walks past them. As he looks, he finds that it’s late enough now that all of the lights are out, save for a television glowing in the occasional window - but not a soul can be seen, and so he continues his trek.

As he approaches the house again, it occurs to him that perhaps the doors will be locked, and it really was an elaborate ruse to humiliate Strickler - but as he tries the knob, it opens easily, and he enters. Closing the door behind him, he locks the deadbolt as well as the knob itself.  _ Just in case. _ As he ascends the stairs, he can feel the butterflies in his gut again, and the fact that he feels much better after his expulsion makes him realize that he’s actually  _ nervous _ . He checks his breath at least three times before he walks to the closed door that he knows belongs to Jim. Stopping in front of the door, he realizes that he needs to piss, and so he turns and goes back to the bathroom. As he urinates into the toilet (leaving the seat down like the irredeemable monster that he is,) he can hear a door open down the hall, and then close again after a few seconds.

_ This is extremely awkward. _

Finishing his business, he zips up and washes his hands and face, checking himself in the mirror one last time before he makes his way back to the door. He pauses again, questioning himself. What if it’s a trap?  _ Just fucking get it over with, you can deal with the consequences later. You won’t be able to do anything if you die. _ Twisting the knob, he pushes the door open and looks inside. Jim stands near his haphazardly made bed in his boxer-briefs and a tank top, his sweater half pulled either on or off, and he appears to be stuck with the neck hole around his head. Raising his eyebrow curiously, he watches as Jim grunts and grumbles, squirming as he attempts to… do  _ something _ with the sweater. “Hold on, let me help,” he says after another moment of gawking, and closing the door behind him he walks over to Jim.

“No-no I’ve got it, just-”

“Nonsense. Let me get it,” Strickler interrupts, grasping the bottom hem of the sweater and pulling it further up. Jim squeaks as he’s thrown off balance, but Strickler’s other hand darts out and catches him by the hip, steadying him. The sweater rather suddenly pops free from Jim’s head, his arms quickly following, and the boy gasps for air. With the boy looking at up at him rather bewildered, Strickler has to stifle a laugh at the way that Jim’s hair juts out in all directions. “There, much better,” he says. Looking at the sweater that he now holds in his hand, he then returns his gaze to Jim. “What were you doing anyway?” Jim looks rather chagrined, averting his gaze. He crosses his arms across his chest, his shoulders hunched nearly up to his ears.

“I was… putting it back on,” he mutters, and Strickler tilts his head curiously. “I don’t know- you were taking a long time and I felt awkward about just standing here in… this.” The changeling smirks, and then reaches out and places his hand on his shoulder.

“Young Atlas, you should let yourself relax for once,” he says in his wisened-teacher voice, and Jim looks up at him. “And what better way to unwind than-” He’s cut off by Jim suddenly grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him far enough down for him to mash their faces together, a rather expected ferocity as the boy kisses him. Moaning against his mouth, Strickler wraps his arms around him, pulling him flush against his body. It’s sloppy as Jim shoves his tongue into his mouth, but he doesn’t complain and simply slicks his own against the intrusion, and their tongues entangle in a completely unironic battle for dominance. Pulling back, Jim stares up at the changeling with wide eyes, and then forces his face into a scowl.

“Just so you know I still really hate you. And your face is stupid.” Strickler smirks, slipping his hand underneath his tank top.

“I know,” he replies, and then leans in to kiss him again. Their noses bump once more, but neither of them pay much mind to it because then Strickler is pushing him down onto the bed, his hands clutched onto the boy’s hips. Rather suddenly, Jim uses the leverage that he has on the front of Strickler’s shirt to switch their places and flip him down onto the bed at an awkward diagonal angle, and moves to straddle him - an action which causes Strickler’s already painfully engorged cock to twitch in excitement. As he swings his knee over Strickler’s torso and attempts to put his weight on it, he finds empty air and starts to fall sideways towards the ground. Strickler catches him with a hand on his boxer-briefs, but in the process unbalances himself and sends them both tumbling to the ground. Whacking his head against the leg of the desk, Strickler yelps. Letting out a quiet  _ whoops _ , Jim starts to try to help him, but then remembers that he hates him and insteads grabs him by the hair and shoves his head down at an awkward angle before kissing him again. Strickler gives a muffled protest, but quickly gives up that idea and begins tugging Jim’s boxers down. Pulling away, Jim tries to shift to help, but he loses his balance once more and falls back. Still holding Strickler by the hair and the collar, he forces the changeling to sit up, and when Jim instinctively releases his grip Strickler falls back once more, and his head ricochets back against the desk leg again while the trollhunter tumbles to the ground.

Hissing, Strickler grabs the back of his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and sits up again. Opening his eyes, he sees Jim also recovering, and watches as the boy starts to move towards him once more. Raising his hand up in a protective gesture, he winces again. “Stop! Hold on a second.” Jim freezes, suddenly looking rather sheepish. Sitting up fully, he brings his hand back to check for blood before addressing the boy again. Satisfied that he’s not bleeding, he looks at Jim thoughtfully for a moment. “We need to approach this with a bit more strategy,” he says, getting to his knees. “Here, get up.” As he stands, Jim does also, and they stand looking at each other for a moment.

“So…” Jim begins, looking at him expectantly. “What’s the strategy?” Strickler looks him up and down and then nods to himself.

“I think we should undress first,” Strickler says, and quickly follows it with “-Ourselves. I think we should undress ourselves.” Jim nods gravely, and then reaches for the bottom hem of his tank top, but does not yet pull it up. He simply watches Strickler carefully, an action which prompts him to get to work. Toeing off his shoes, he undoes his belt before whipping it out of its loops, smirking at Jim as he does so. The trollhunter seems thoroughly unimpressed, and instead furrows his brow as he stares at his chest.

“Does your shirt… have flamingos on it?” he asks. Pressing his lips together in a hard line, Strickler pauses for a moment before responding.

“...yes.” With that, he drops the belt and reaches up to begin to unbutton his shirt, making quick work of it. As he peels the shirt off of his torso and arms, he finds that Jim is rather captivated by the sight, blushing as he looks at the expanse of hair across Strickler’s glorious, slightly toned dad bod. Noticing this, the changeling smirks. “Am I going to be the only nude one, Young Atlas?” Shaking himself out of his reverie, Jim pulls his tank top off, revealing his smooth chest. Strickler continues to smirk to himself as he examines him from a distance, admiring the boy’s soft, lovely skin, made somehow lovelier by the twin scars beneath his pectorals. Pulling his gaze away, he looks down as he unbuttons his trousers, dropping them to the ground. He pulls his socks off one at a time (stabilizing himself against the accursed desk as he does so) before dropping his tighty-whities to the ground and stepping out of them.

“Oh my god… what is wrong with your dick?” Looking up, Strickler sees Jim standing there with nothing on, holding his boxer-briefs limply at his side as he stares at the changeling’s extremely red, very engorged cock. He laughs, but Jim just seems concerned.

“Oh right. Well, funny story - Angor cursed me for fun. Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you,” he says, grasping his treacherous penis with one hand as he gives the boy a sly look. “Nothing except for immense pleasure, of course.” Jim immediately rolls his eyes, and then drops his boxer-briefs to the ground.

“Great. Okay, get on the bed,” Jim says, pointing to the modest twin as if he had not fallen off of it gracelessly mere minutes ago. Strickler acquiesces, laying down and finding that it’s just a bit too small for him, the headboard mere centimeters from the top of his head. Placing both hands behind his head, he smirks at Jim as the boy approaches, his horrifyingly red cock sticking straight up into the air. He feels butterflies again, but he ignores them.

“Well, go ahead. Climb aboard.” Jim glares at him, frowning.

“Stop being cocky,” Jim says. Grinning all the while, Strickler watches as Jim approaches the bed, and then turns around so his back is to him before climbing on top of him rather high up on his chest. No matter, he can scoot down - oh no, he’s scooting  _ up _ and before Strickler can say or do anything, Jim lowers himself onto his face and for the second time that day the changeling gets a mouth full of teenage pussy. Grunting, he grasps the tops of Jim’s thighs with his hands while adjusting his face so that his nose isn’t  _ quite _ as far in between the boy’s buttocks, and resigning himself to his fate he slides his tongue through his folds. Jim grinds himself down onto the man’s jaw, moaning lowly as he does so, and again Strickler can feel his cock twitch.

That small movement seems to be enough for the boy to notice, because after a moment the changeling can feel a hand wrap around his cock, stroking it slowly. He moans against Jim’s cunt, licking and sucking at him as the boy’s hand moves up and down his shaft, sending ripples of warm pleasure shooting up his groin. After another few moments of this, he feels Jim shift, and all of a sudden the boy’s mouth is wrapped around his cock. Shouting against his warm cunt, he bucks up slightly, but Jim holds him down as he bobs his head up and down. It’s nearly too much for him, the heat and the tingling of it all, and Strickler slides his tongue into his hole, humming in pleasure as he hears the noise that it elicits from the boy.  _ Now, this isn’t so bad, is it? _ It suddenly occurs to him that Angor may be watching again, and his eyes fly open, scanning the shadows beyond Jim’s delectable cheeks. He sees nothing in them, just the shadow of Jim’s head bouncing up and down on Strickler’s cock on the wall, and that sight is enough to draw his attention back to the task at hand.

Just as Strickler finds that he’s getting a rhythm, Jim suddenly pops his cock out of his mouth and moves his lower half away from his face. Relieved to be able to breathe easy again, Strickler takes in a big gulp of air and then watches as Jim shifts down the bed, positioning himself over the changeling’s groin. Jim looks over his shoulder at him as Strickler stares rather dumbly at him, mouth agape until he remembers to look dignified and closes it. Grasping Strickler’s cock with one hand and positioning it against his entrance, he steadies himself against the wall with the other. Grasping the boy’s hips, Strickler watches with unbridled lust as Jim lowers himself onto his shaft, his horrible cock being engulfed in delightful warmth.

“ _ Fuck. _ ” It’s somewhere between a hiss and a whine, and he swears that he can hear a quiet chuckle coming from Jim. The boy only gets halfway down, however, before he slides back up again, Strickler’s cock nearly falling out. Slowly (and rather awkwardly) Jim begins to find a pace that seems adequate, but the truth is that neither of them is finding it particular satisfactory, aside from the novelty of the feeling of his cock in his cunt. They continue in this manner for a few more seconds before Jim begins to become irritated and bounces more violently. With the increased activity and the violence with which it is taking place, Strickler quickly discovers that the bed really  _ is _ too small for him, because with each thrust his head hits against the metal bars of the headboard. “Jim- hold on-” But Jim does not hold on. “Hey- hang on- wait-” With a particularly hard hit against the bar, Strickler yelps again and then sits up to wrap his arms around Jim from behind before pulling him back, pulling him off of his cock as well. Startled and now lying with all of his weight on top of the changeling Jim squirms and tries to get up, but Strickler holds him tight.

Twisting his head to try to look at him, Jim snarls. “What are you-”

“Shut up!” Strickler snaps, still holding the boy tight. “I’m thinking.” Looking around the room, he tries to think of a better surface for them to fuck against, but everything seems either too small or too unstable.

“You’re ruining the moment,” Jim states, and it sounds rather bratty to Strickler’s ears. He hates that it turns him on even more than before.

“Get up,” Strickler says, releasing Jim and allowing him to go tumbling out of the bed. The boy is rather quick to get back on his feet, and as he whirls around, he’s taken aback when he sees that Strickler is already up, and he’s standing very close. His lower lip quivers for just a moment or two before he paints on his best defiant expression.

“Well? Is that it?” He asks in challenge, but Strickler does not smirk this time. He can swear that he sees the changeling’s eyes glint in the shadow across his face.

“Oh, far from it,” Strickler says, his voice lower, and it causes a spike of arousal in Jim. Slowly, he advances, and the boy instinctively takes a step back, and then another. Before he’s aware of it, his back is against the cold wall, and Strickler is lowering himself towards the ground. Rather suddenly, Strickler hooks his hands against the back of Jim’s thighs and he scoops him off of his feet, positioning him so that their faces are on the same level. Jim wraps his arms around Strickler’s neck immediately to keep from falling, and he flushes as he stares into his eyes. Strickler’s eyes have that hooded look again as he leans forward, brushing his lips against the boy’s, moving one hand to grasp his cock and position it. Jim shudders with excitement, and as he feels the changeling’s breath against his mouth, his eyes flutter shut.

Without warning Strickler, thrusts into him and Jim cries out while digging his nails into his shoulders. Strickler smirks then, and as he rapidly increases the timing of his thrusts he watches as Jim stares back into his eyes, an unbroken stare. He can see the way that the boy’s face contorts in pleasure, his breath ragged and moans pouring from his lips the way that wine had embarrassingly poured from Strickler’s lips downstairs. “Do you like that?” He asks breathily as Jim enthusiastically nods, grabbing the back of his neck and digging his nails in there too. It would nearly be poetic, with the way that the boy litters his flesh with crescents, but Strickler can’t have too much poetry in his life. As if his soft, twinky body is possessed by the spirit of a Dom top (which he most certainly is not) he growls out the words “Do you like it when daddy fucks you hard like that?”

Between gasping moans, Jim grimaces. “Oh wow, gross.”  _ Okay, maybe not that one. _ “But yeah, I do.” Strickler laughs nervously through pants, and buries his face in the crook of Jim’s neck to hide the absolutely mortified expression on his face. As he thrusts faster and faster, exhaustion unable to stop his relentless lust, he finds that he does not see another face swimming before his closed eyes - just Jim’s lovely boyish features.  _ Interesting. _ He does not have too much time to think about it, however, because all of a sudden his cock is throbbing and semen is pumping out in jets into the boy that he had secretly adored for years. As he cries out he bites down into Jim’s shoulder, an action which draws out a scream from the boy. It’s a sound that is a mixture of pleasure and pain with just a bit more of the latter, and as he feels Jim smacking the palm of his hand against his back he releases his grip. Slowing to a stop as the last of his orgasm runs through him, he pants into the crook of Jim’s neck and revels in the feeling of relief. As his cock becomes flaccid, it slips out of the boy’s cunt and allows a not insignificant amount of semen to splatter down onto the ground below.

But of course, a thought occurs to him and he pulls back, looking at Jim. Hair sticks to the boy’s forehead in sweaty strands as he looks back at him with bleary eyes, catching his breath. “Did you come?” Strickler demands all of a sudden, and Jim furrows his brow.

“What do you think? What was that, like two minutes?” The words sting, but for the first time that day, Strickler actually feels a bit… excited about his failure.

“Do you want to go for round two then?” He asks, and Jim pulls back a little bit, suspicious.

“Yeah I guess, but… don’t you need to… you know… get it up again?” He asks. “A man your age, that probably takes a while.” Strickler smirks, and as he does so, he feels himself growing hard again. Jim raises his eyebrows in surprise as he feels the changeling’s erection against his cheeks.

“Lucky for you, Angor Rot is a sadistic bastard, and this old man has a cursed penis.” Leaning forward, he kisses Jim again before pulling him more securely against his chest, and carrying him to the bed. It’s all a bit unnerving how comfortable he is with all of this, and maybe it’s the two hard knocks against the desk that’s doing it, but as he puts the boy down and gets onto his knees, he feels a warmth that he knows as happiness.


	11. The Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Here's a shorter chapter after the last one, sorry it's late! I'm going to try to get on schedule starting this week. We're halfway there now, thanks for tuning in!

The following morning, Strickler awakes, his body aching and his hands sticky. Groaning, he slowly opens his eyes, shifting himself into a more comfortable position. As he does so, his fingers slip out of their resting place inside of James Lake Jr, and the boy groans in response to the action, turning his head in his sleep. As his eyes become more focused, Strickler looks at the clock, reading _9:09am_. Grumbling to himself, he lets his eyes shut again, and he nestles his face more comfortably on Jim’s bare abdomen.

“You may want to put some clothes on, Impure.”

As the voice rings out in the otherwise silent space, Strickler’s eyes fly open and he bolts upright, looking across the room to see Angor leaning against the bookcase, typing something on his phone with his stylus. “Angor!” Strickler hisses, leaping rather abruptly out of the tiny bed, surprisingly not self conscious as he stands naked before the troll. The jostling wakes Jim, who grumbles a moment before he too sees Angor, which causes him to scramble to cover himself with the crumpled up blankets and sheets at the foot of his bed. “What are you doing here?” the changeling demands, reaching down to grab his underwear.

“How did you get in here?” Jim asks, wrapping the sheet around himself and hurrying over to his bag. “ _You_ should leave, before I… hang on a second…” Realizing that he is not particularly threatening at the moment, he trails off and begins rummaging through his bag. As Strickler pulls on his underwear and Jim searches for the amulet, Angor clicks the phone off and stows it in one of his pouches, smirking at the two of them.

“This is a huge invasion of privacy, you realize,” Strickler says, hands on his hips. “And I had _assumed_ that the hit was on hold since you found it appropriate to curse me, so why are you here?”

“Wait, what _hit_?” Jim asks, but he’s quickly drowned out by Angor’s deep voice.

“It seems as though you had a busy night,” the troll chuckles, looking down at Strickler's little briefs and his aching cock.

“Yes, as you knew beforehand. It’s still _extremely_ inappropriate for you to be here.”

“You speak as if your behavior yesterday was a shining example of everything a teacher should be,”  Angor retorts, stepping closer.

Rather suddenly, the sound of Jim’s voice calling out “For the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command!” rings through the room, and a flash of light temporarily blinds the two trolls. Now brandishing Daylight, Jim points it at the two trolls who stand staring at him. “Okay, I need you to tell me what’s going on _right now_ ,” Jim says, putting on his fiercest expression. Perhaps it would be frightening in some other scenario, but as Strickler recalls how he had the boy mewling like a kitten the night before, it’s hard to take him seriously. Furrowing his brow, he looks at the armor for a moment before looking back at his face.

“You’re still naked under that, right? Doesn’t that chafe?” He asks, and Jim flushes slightly, glancing down at the armor.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, looking back up at him. “Answers, _now_.” He looks at Angor. “Why are you here?”

“I think that you should be more concerned with the fact that there are fleshbags in the house,” Angor says bluntly, which causes Strickler’s stomach to drop. In his sudden and intense passion for Jim, he had completely forgotten about Barbara’s existence.

“ _What?!_ ” Jim yelps the word out, lowering Daylight and rushing over to the window. Strickler follows him, and as they both look down towards the driveway below, dread overcomes the both of them. Barbara’s car is parked in the driveway, and appears to be off. “Oh man, oh this is bad.” Turning to look at Strickler, the boy’s eyes are wide. “Wow, this was a huge mistake.” The words that the boy speaks cause a pain that Strickler does not expect, but in spite of it, he turns away from the window and moves back over the the pile of his clothes, hurriedly pulling on his trousers. “You’ll have to leave from the back door or something, or-or maybe... the window?” Jim thinks aloud as Strickler threads his belt back through his trousers, and then pulls his shirt back on. “Yeah you’re gonna have to go out the window, both of you.”

“I’m leaving through the front door,” Strickler says, buttoning the last button on his shirt and tucking it in to his trousers.

“What? _No_ , you’re going out the window,” Jim insists, approaching him. Sitting down in the desk chair, the changeling pulls on his socks and then his shoes, not looking the boy in the eye the entire time.

“It’s far more suspicious if I get caught sneaking out of your window than if I simply walk out of the front door,” Strickler says.

“The idiot has a point,” Angor notes, announcing himself to the room again as if anyone could forget the giant treelike troll in the room. “If your fleshbag mother catches him that way then she will surely kill him. Climbing out of a window whilst wearing pink birds is punishable by death, according to an obscure troll law.” Jim furrows his brow in confusion.

“I... I don’t think that’s…”

“Gormlat’s Third Amendment is not quite the reason why she’d kill me, Angor, but good try.” Standing up, Strickler brushes off a speck of invisible dirt from his shoulder and smoothes out his hair. “Well, how do I look?”

Simultaneously, Angor says “Like a horny exotic bird,” while Jim says "Like an asshole," which are effectively the same thing. Strickler rolls his eyes.

“Wonderful.” Looking at Jim, he feels a strange emotion caught in his chest. “Well, this was...  a thing.” As they stare at each other, he falls silent again. After an uncomfortable amount of time passes, he at last looks away. “I’ll see you on Monday.” Finally, he walks towards the door, and opens it. He says nothing as he exits, and the door clicks shut behind him.

“Well, looks like it’s your turn,” Jim says, and then turns to the empty spot where Angor Rot had been standing moments before. Startled, Jim whirls around, looking to see if the troll is hiding in some corner, but he is nowhere to be found. “ _God_ , I hate that guy.”

* * *

As Strickler descends the stairs, he is quiet as a mouse. He sees no sign of Barbara, but he can smell bacon cooking on the stove. It smells surprisingly edible for something prepared by the notoriously awful cook, and he is half tempted grab a bite - but the fear of her questions keeps him moving steadily towards the front door. As he steps down off of the last step and reaches out towards the front door, he hears a gasp from his left.

“Mr. Strickler!” the voice exclaims, and he feels his stomach drop once again. Turning, he looks and sees standing in the living room... Ophelia Nuñez? Doing a double take, he raises his eyebrow curiously as he takes in the sight of her clad in naught but a silk robe and holding a mug in each hand, bending over the coffee table. “What are you doing here?” _Ophelia... Nuñez..._ Taking a closer look at her chest, he sees the raised nipples and notes that she truly is naked underneath her robe. He feels his cursed cock twitch awake once more, and he feels like swearing.

“I could as the same of you, Mrs. Nuñez,” he says, lowering his hand from the handle once more.

“Ophelia!” A familiar voice calls out from the kitchen, and the councilwoman stands up a little bit straighter, her cheeks flushed. “Did you find the coasters okay?”

“Yes, Barbara,” she calls back, not looking away from Strickler as she sets the mugs down on the coasters. “But uh... you’ve got company!” Strickler inwardly curses, and she seems to see his displeasure. Raising an eyebrow in suspicion, she moves past him and towards the dining room, but he does not have a moment to escape because then Barbara is coming around the corner, a concerned look on her face and her body likewise clad in naught but a silk robe.

“Oh!” She exclaims as she sees Strickler, instinctively covering her chest with her arms. “Walt! What are you doing here?” She asks, looking him up and down in much the same way that Ophelia had.

“I…” He pauses, noting the dishevelment of her hair and the smudged makeup around her eyes. “I was sleeping in your guest room upstairs,” he says, the pieces beginning to fall into place. “I came to spend the night, but it was late by the time I got here and I didn’t want to startle you by sleeping in your bed without you knowing.” She seems confused and skeptical, and she tilts her head at an angle.

“Why didn’t you just message me?” She asks, and it’s a very good question.

“Like I said, it was late and I figured you had more things to worry about.” Looking over her shoulder, he sees Ophelia walk around the corner again and cross the hall to the bathroom. “So, _why_ is Mrs. Nuñez here?” Barbara blushes, averting her gaze.

“Oh, well…”

“Is everything okay in there, Barbara?” Another voice rings out, but this time it’s a man’s. Strickler watches as a third figure rounds the corner, and he sees Javier Nuñez in all his glory - well, not quite _all_ of his glory, as he is sporting a tasteful lacy jockstrap. Likewise, he seems surprised to see Strickler, and the changeling feels heat rising in his cheeks and the twitching in his cock is renewed once more. “Oh! Good morning, Mr. Strickler!”

“Good morning, hot stuff,” Strickler greets impulsively, and then covers his mouth with his hand rather abruptly. Javier grins, placing one hand on his hip while he holds up his spatula. The changeling finds himself mesmerized by the movement of the other man’s hips, and he has to force himself to look away from his nearly naked crotch, and back at his face. “I apologize, that was inappropriate of me.”

“Nonsense, I appreciate flattery in all its forms.” Laughing, he winks at him, and then ducks back into the kitchen.

Turning to look at Barbara, she looks rather sheepish and gives him an awkward smile. “So... is this... entirely what it looks like?” He asks, and Barbara chuckles.

“Oh Walt, you know we’re not exclusive, right?” Reaching out, she places a sympathetic hand on his arm, and he raises an eyebrow at her.

“Well of course we’re not, I just…” _...am wildly jealous. The robes? That jockstrap? Enticing beyond words._ “Did not expect this.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to be in my house!” It’s a fair point, but he doesn’t like it. “Jim’s at Toby’s, so it never even occurred to me that you might be here. All the doors were open and everything was dark upstairs, I hadn’t even _thought_ that you might be in the guest room.” Strickler feels his heart leap in his chest. _The doors were open? I was so certain that I closed Jim’s at the very least. Was it open the whole time?_ “You didn’t… _hear_ anything, did you?”

“Of course not,” he replies, and then feels his anxiety spiking even higher as another thought occurs to him. “Wait… were you here _all night_?”

“We got in a little after midnight or so,” she says. His chest feels tight. He had arrived at around 10:00pm himself. At around midnight, he was balls-deep in her teenage son, and had been on and off for the entire night - save for the three hours they had slept before Angor awoke them, in which case he had been knuckle-deep in her teenage son.

“Did… _you_ hear anything?” he asks. She furrows her brows.

“No, why?”

“No reason,” he says quickly. “Well, I’ll just be on my way then and let you get on with your morning.”

“Hang on, Walt,” she says, placing her hand on his arm once more. Smiling coyly at him, she bats her eyelashes and he feels a flutter in his heart. “You know you can _join_ us, right?” He feels a rush of excitement at the thought. Her words send him into a fantasy of debaucherous delight of such lovely bodies writhing in and around him, and it’s a lot for him to parse all at once. Would it count as one, or three? Does it matter? Just how _kinky_ are the Nuñezes? How kinky is _Barbara_ when given the opportunity?

Then, rather inconveniently, he thinks of Jim upstairs and for once has a thought influenced by his conscience. It wouldn’t be right, not with the boy’s mother and not within a couple dozen feet of him. Letting out a sigh, he puts his hand over Barbara’s and pats it gently.

“As much as I would love to have an admittedly modest orgy with you, I’m afraid I must be on my way.” Leaning forward, he plants a kiss on her cheek, and pulls away. Barbara sighs.

“I must admit that I’m a little disappointed, but I understand.” Pulling her hand back, she crosses her arms over her chest and smiles at him again, this time much less seductively. “I tell you what - I’ll let you know the next time that we have a date, and if you’re feeling up to it, maybe you can join us.” He smiles back at her, and averts his gaze.

“I’d like that,” he says, and turns back to the door. “Have a nice weekend, Barbara.”

* * *

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

He chants the word over and over again in his mind as he briskly walks to his car, thoughts racing. She had been there all night! Not just her, but two other people! He and Jim hadn’t exactly been quiet - how did she manage not to _hear_ anything? And what about the doors? How did she not _see_ anything? The stress is building once again, and it’s nearly more powerful than his erection, which has returned with a vengeance. He had done enough fucking throughout the night to keep the pain at bay whilst he slept, but now it has been at least four hours since his last ejaculation and he’s beginning to feel it.

Rounding the corner, he sees his car right where he had left it, and he nearly sprints to the vehicle. Fumbling with the keys, he looks more than a little suspicious as he glances around in paranoia while unlocking the door, and flinging it open as soon as the lock flips. Climbing in, he slams the door shut, and then screams as he sees a pair of glowing eyes in the rear view mirror. Squeezing his eyes shut, he growls and shakes.

“You! Have! To! Stop! Doing! That!” He shouts every word, punctuated by his fists slamming against the steering wheel. Angor chuckles, smirking to himself.

“A rather close call, Stricklander,” he purrs. “Rather miraculous that she didn’t see a thing - and I must admit that I’m surprised that you didn’t simply fuck _all_ of the fleshbags. They were laid out so neatly for you too.”

“Stop fucking with me, I’m sick of it,” Strickler grinds out, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel.

“Oh, are you?” He feels the car jostle slightly as Angor shifts, his breath on the back of Strickler’s neck. “I can smell your arousal, you know.” He brushes his claws against the side of the changeling’s arms, and he shudders. He hates the effect that Angor has on him.

“Were you watching the whole time?” he asks.

“I always am.” His voice is low, nearly seductive if Strickler didn’t know better.

“Why didn’t you stop us when Barbara got back?” He asks, and Angor pauses for a moment.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

Strickler laughs, rubbing his face with his hand. “As if you care about my enjoyment,” he spits out. “This is all just very elaborate torture. Who am I kidding, you’d never do anything to help me.”

Angor lets out a low hum. “True. I would never help a disgusting creature like you - that must be why I altered the fleshbag’s ability to perceive so that she would not see you defiling her precious son.” Strickler jerks his head up, looking in the rear view mirror in surprise. “Not that it took very much - that fleshbag has an incredible ability to simply _not_ see things that she doesn’t want to, like all of the red flags that you have sticking out of you.”

“You did that?” He asks incredulously. “Why?” Angor meets his gaze, his eyes devoid of any discernible emotion. He’s silent for a few moments, not looking away. Strickler can feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest.

“It was the more interesting option,” Angor replies, and something clicks. Strickler smirks.

“You _like_ me,” he says matter-of-factly, and Angor blinks.

“I despise you,” he retorts, but Strickler is already turning around in his seat.

“No no, you _like_ me. Why else would you do something like that? Like _any_ of this?”

“To torture you. To punish you for awakening me for your own stupid and extremely petty purposes.”

“No, you want to _kiss_ me. You want to _fuck_ me.”

“You’re thinking with your cock right now.”

Alas, Strickler is already crawling over the console, awkwardly making his way into the backseat. Angor watches him, his expression slowly morphing into a grimace. The changeling’s foot hooks in the cup holder for a moment, and as he pulls it free he goes toppling into Angor’s lap. The troll instinctively raises his hands up to catch him, but at the last minute catches himself and lowers his hands back down. Chuckling breathily, Strickler grabs the root on Angor’s shoulder and hoists himself into his lap proper, straddling the troll. “Is this what you want, Angor?” He asks, reaching out with his other hand to stroke the troll’s horn. Angor grabs his hand and pulls it away.

“No,” he says bluntly, but he shifts his legs so that their groins may touch a little bit easier.

“No? You don’t like this?” Strickler leans down, his lips brushing against the cool stone of Angor’s cheek. “This doesn’t make you just a tad bit excited?” It does, but Angor would never admit it.

“You have an appalling amount of unearned confidence.”

“And you think that’s _cute_.”

Angor sneers, reaching out to his side to grasp Skathe-Hrün. “Get back to work before you explode and leave penis chunks everywhere,” he says, and then opens a portal below himself and slips into it. As Angor disappears along with the portal, Strickler awkwardly topples into the footwell and smacks his head against the car door, hitting it in the exact spot where it encountered Jim’s desk the night before. Once again, later has not come - but as Strickler winces and rubs the painful bump on his head, he gets the feeling that later is getting closer and closer, and he smirks to himself.

Only one person sees him awkwardly climb back into the front seat, and they laugh only a little bit - but blissfully unaware, Strickler drives home before heading to his next destination.


End file.
